


Burn

by lilfinch



Category: Firebringer - Fandom, Firebringer - Team StarKid, Spies Are Forever, Starkid, Starship, The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, Tin Can Brothers, twisted - Fandom
Genre: F/F, High School AU, Jazzalil, Kind of a slow burn, Mordern AU, Whatever it’ll be fun, because I needed more characters, hard to explain just read, i bit more than I could chew and now it is complicated, kind of a fast burn, starkid characters taken from other musicals all in one universe, superhero au, there is so much going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 57,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: When Hatchetfield’s own super Hero, War Master, dies, her adoptive daughter, seventeen year-old Jemilla Riddler, suddenly finds herself the defender of her town. With swallowed reluctance she takes on the role of Peacemaker to defeat Snarl, Hatchetfield’s new Rogue, before he can cause any more destruction.Seventeen year-old orphan, Zazzalil Malfoy, has kept her super powers hidden for as long as she remembers. But the death of War Master brings her to the realization that Hatchetfield has been left Hero-less, and she decides that it is her responsibility to do something about it. With little grace and all the chaos one would expect, she becomes Firebringer.This is their story.[This was written before Black Friday came out, btw]





	1. drapetomania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s start this bitch off right with a major character death yeet

_ drapetomania: an overwhelming urge to run away _

War Master was dead. Molag was dead. 

Jemilla stood in the rain as it beat against her skin, sharp and stinging in the wind. The moonlight was thin and weak, filtered through the heavy rain clouds, despite it being full, and Jemilla had to squint to see.

There was a flash of lightning, and her heart nearly stopped in its chest. The outline of Snarl against the sky was unmistakable. His hulking body towered over the limp form of Molag, who lay unmoving in the grass. 

Jemilla gasped, though immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. Snarl’s head flicked up, his yellow eyes glinting against the darkness as they snapped towards Jemilla. She ducked back behind the tree, fear coursing through her body like hot ice. Her head fell into her hands, wet curls sticking to her skin. Jemilla tried to steady her gulping breaths. There had to be something she could do. Anything. 

Wearily, Jemilla leaned forward, her dark eyes peering out from behind the tree she cowered behind. Snarl hadn’t decided to pursue her, though Jemilla knew for certain that he knew she was there. She watched as Snarl’s clawed hands reached down and picked Molag up by her neck. Jemilla prayed for Molag to release a sudden, unexpected concussive blast from her hands, but she didn’t.

She didn’t do anything.

Molag, the War Master, was frail and limp in the hands of Snarl. Jemilla felt dread sink in her chest. Molag couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t. The almighty War Master, with the ability to release Seismic Blasts from her bare palms, absolutely could not be dead.

But Jemilla watched as a grin traced across the mutated, fanged mouth of Snarl. 

Jemilla watched as his forearm flexed and the bulging muscles in his arms tightened as he slowly began to squeeze out of Molag what little life she had left.

Jemilla watched as Snarl squeezed tighter and tighter until a sickening snap punctuated the air. Molag’s head fell back at an awkward angle, and Jemilla quickly looked away to avoid meeting the lifeless eyes that lolled back at her.

Snarl let out a raspy, deep chuckle, and dropped Molag. She crumpled to the ground.

Jemilla couldn’t stop the gasping sob from leaving her body. Snarl slowly tore his gaze from the corpse of Molag in front of him, and raised it. 

“Come here, little one,” she heard his deep voice call to her. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard to her ears, all twisted and gargled and wrong, but she stepped out from behind the tree anyway, giving in to the fear that controlled her entire body.

“I’ve killed your Hero,” Snarl said. Jemilla didn’t respond, only stood in the muddy grass, letting hot tears clash with the cold rain as she shook uncontrollably. “Do you see,” Snarl asked, “I’ve killed her.” Jemilla couldn’t force herself to look down at Molag.

“Little one,” Snarl said. There was no velvet to his voice. Only malice and gravel. “I’m going to kill you next. I’m going to kill you just as I’ve killed her. Do you understand?” He didn’t wait for Jemilla to respond. She couldn’t anyway. Hiccuping sobs racked her body and rendered her unable to speak. Snarl continued. “I’m going to kill you. But tonight is not that night. Take your Hero. And go.”

Jemilla’s mind screamed at her to attack. To throw a punch. To step into his mind and whisper that he should throw his head down against the cracked sidewalk. But she couldn’t. All she could do was leave. All Jemilla could do was shakily step forward, and wrap her arms around the smaller form of Molag.

Snarl watched as his yellow, catlike eyes narrowed and the grin widened on his face as Jemilla walked away without sparing the massive, beast-like man a second glance.

The rain smelled acrid and burned her lungs.

—

_ “Is it done?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “So this one… he’s not a failure?” _

_ “Obviously fucking not.” _

_ “After the last one… I had to make sure.” _

_ “He’s strong.” _

_ “He better be.” _

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw hell yeah


	2. opia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s hop on over to Zazzy land, shall we?

_ opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye _

War Master was dead. It was all over the news when Zazzalil rose in the morning. She woke up to the sound of an obnoxiously loud television yelling at her that Hatchetfield’s own Hero had died, and to the acrid petrichor that hung thick in the fog.

Zazzalil had expected school to be canceled. It wasn’t. She expected nobody to show up after she begrudgingly dragged herself to school. They did. She expected the teachers to not teach, and for there to instead be a long presentation on the death of War Master.

That, she was right about.

Upon entering the building, Zazzalil immediately singled out Keeri waiting for her in the hushed crowds as they were ushered into the auditorium. 

Before the aid could catch them; however, Zazzalil pulled Keeri’s arm and they snuck away from the mass of students and teachers, ducking into the history hall and sinking against the lockers in the hallway. 

“God, can you believe it,” Zazzalil asked, pushing herself deeper into her striped brown sweater. Keeri didn’t respond, a worried look on her face as she pulled her phone out.

“Here,” she said, and Zazzalil scooted closer to Keeri as she pulled up the news.

“_ Hatchetfield’s very own Hero, the acclaimed War Master, was found dead in front of the police station late last night. Anonymous tips say that her death was the cause of rising villain Snarl, the latest of the storm of Rogues that continues plaguing the world. For more information, check out the website at-” _

Keeri turned her phone off, shaking her head slowly. “It’s impossible. I mean, War Master is in the Tribe for god’s sake—in the _ Council _. She’s a top tier Hero. And Snarl is… a cat man.”

“Has there been any video evidence from the fight found?” Zazzalil asked, her head resting against the locker.

Keeri hummed a response as she scrolled quickly through her phone. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Then who dropped the body off at the police station? Snarl?”

“I don’t know,” was all Keeri could say. The two were silent for a few moments, both staring at the wall of lockers opposite them. 

“We don’t have a Hero,” Keeri said quietly. “We have a villain. A Rogue. And we don’t have a Hero.”

Zazzalil felt a twist inside her stomach at the realization. Her gaze fell to the floor and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe we should go to the auditorium,” she said.

“What?”

Zazzalil felt her hand snake tightly around her body as a sick feeling blossomed in her stomach. “Or maybe you should. I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Zazz, if you’re trying to skip school just tell me and I’ll-”

“No, Keeri, I’m serious. I think I might throw up.” Keeri stood suddenly, worry flashing across her features.

“Is it happening again? Are you getting one of your… nausea… bursts?”

“Yes, yeah. That. I need to go.” Keeri held her hand out for Zazzalil to grab it and she obliged, hoisting herself up with a grunt. 

“Come on, then,” Keeri said, “I’ll walk you to the nurse-”

“No, just go to the auditorium.”

“What?”

“I need to go to the bathroom. You go, tell the aid you were walking me to the nurse. I’ll be fine.”

Doubt and concern clouded Keeri’s pale blue eyes, “but Zazz…”

“Go.” Zazzalil pulled away from Keeri’s grip on her hand and jogged to the bathroom, trying to shake the stars from her vision as she slammed suddenly into the bathroom door. It swung open and she stumbled inside, crashing into the wall. Zazzalil rubbed her eyes, groaning. 

“Zazzalil?” A soft voice asked suddenly. Zazzalil’s head flicked up, and she found herself staring directly into the round, tanned face of Jemilla Riddler, the Class President.

“Oh, god. Jemilla. You scared me.” Zazzalil said, feeling her face get hot as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Zazzalil looked at the ground, fighting the urge to rock awkwardly on the balls of her heels.

“Are you… are you okay?” Zazzalil felt embarrassment grow like a knot in her throat and she forced herself to meet Jemilla’s warm brown gaze. Zazzalil was surprised to see that Jemilla didn’t actually look like she was in any better shape than Zazz felt.

Her skin was blotchy and red, and her eyes were slightly puffy. She’d been crying. Jemilla took instant notice of Zazzalil’s realization and she turned to face the sink, sniffing hard.

“I could ask the same of you, Jemilla,” Zazzalil said, taking a few careful steps towards the tall girl. She _ seemed _ composed as usual. Jemilla always was. This was probably the only time they’d had an actual interaction, excluding that one time Jemilla yelled at Zazzalil for running through the halls, causing her to accidentally run headfirst into an open locker when she was late for Engineering II. But something was off. 

The usually perfect, deep brown curls were messed up and frizzy, and her makeup seemed to be missing completely. Her shirt was crumpled, her turquoise scarf knotted awkwardly. A deep frown stretched across Jemilla’s face and she looked down into the sink in front of her.

Zazzalil took one more cautious step forward to get a better look at Jemilla in the mirror, but could only see the top of her head. Zazzalil spared a glance at herself and almost winced. She looked much worse than Jemilla did, of that she was sure. Her hair was a wild, frizzy mess and her face was ghostly pale. There were dark bags under her eyes and “illness” was written all over her face.

“Jemilla?” Zazzalil asked softly upon realizing that the Class President hadn’t responded and was instead now hunched over the sink fighting back tears.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Jemilla said, sniffing as she straightened suddenly. Zazzlil’s gaze widened as Jemilla quickly wiped away a few stray tears. “Mo- I mean War Master’s death has gotten to me, I guess.”

“It’s gotten to all of us,” Zazzalil replied gently. Not sure what to do, Zazzalil stepped forward and placed her hand on Jemilla’s shoulder. The taller girl looked shocked for a moment, and then turned to Zazzalil. 

Zazzalil felt her heart skid to a stop for a moment as she looked into Jemilla’s eyes. They were warm, they were always like that, and were a dark, entrancing color that probably had the name of a fancy desk like mahogany or chestnut or something.

They stood like that for a moment, so close Zazzalil could practically feel the warmth radiating from her, before Jemilla blinked and inhaled suddenly. She leaned forward and wrapped Zazzalil in a tight hug, catching the smaller girl completely by surprise. Zazzalil sputtered for a moment before slowly returning the hug, the nausea suddenly forgotten.

Jemilla pulled back quickly, much to Zazzalil’s surprising disappointment, and looked at her feet in embarrassment, her face getting subtlety red.

“S-Sorry,” Jemilla said tightly, and Zazzalil was too shocked to respond, “I have to go. Thank you. I hope you feel better.”

Jemilla left without another word.

Zazzalil stood alone in the bathroom, staring at the place where Jemilla had just been, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that her face burned an obnoxiously bright red.

“What the fuck?” She muttered.

It took Zazzalil a few minutes to recompose herself, though apparently her throbbing heart calmed for no one. When she decided she was fine, for the most part, Zazzalil ducked into the biggest stall, sparing a quick glance through the empty bathroom before locking the stall door behind her.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep, slow breaths.

_ Just for a few moments _ , Zazzalil told herself, _ and then you tuck it away. Don’t let it grow. There, and then gone. _

Zazzalil felt a small hotness well in her chest, a heat that quickly got bigger and bigger the more she focused in on it. She exhaled shakily, taking this heat and directing it to her palms. In an instant, a small, purple flame sprouted on the base of her palm, flickering and dancing. Zazzalil felt relief douse through her body as she flexed her palms, watching as the flame grew slightly.

She watched it for a few more moments before snapping her hand into a tight fist, extinguishing the violet flame with a quiet sizzle. Zazzalil then reopened her fist, examining her skin carefully. Not a single burn, as usual. 

The nausea was gone completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy


	3. solivagant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw the mental turmoil hits and you’re like hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng

_ solivagant: wandering alone _

When trying to pull up her mental files on Zazzalil Malfoy, all Jemilla could remember was that Zazzalil was a quiet, loner-type girl with one friend and that one time she ran face first into an open locker when Jemilla yelled at her for running in the halls.

At the time it had been horrifying, but thinking about it now Jemilla let out a small laugh as she pulled on her gloves. But the moment was gone all to quickly, and the grin was quickly wiped from Jemilla’s face the moment she turned around to face the cape that hung on the door.

The house was dark, Jemilla wandered around using the moonlight that shone through the window. She didn’t really want to turn on the light, it would give off a false sense of company. Of not being alone. Jemilla was alone.

She had been alone before, of course. The last time Jemilla felt like this was when she was nine and her mother was dying on a hospital bed and the social security worker was standing outside the door. The last time Jemilla had felt like this, she had run. She had crawled out of her mind and into her mothers, hoping that if her mother couldn’t hear her physically then maybe she could hear her mentally, and Jemilla had sang sweet songs until the social worker knocked lightly on the door.

Jemilla’s mother had always told her that she shouldn’t project into the minds of people who didn’t deserve it, and as much as Jemilla wanted to shoot herself into the mind of the interrupting social worker, she knew her mother would disapprove. So, Jemilla had stepped gently out of her mother's mind, and then had physically stepped out of the hospital window.

Then, she had ran.

She’d ran and ran and ran, until she ran straight into the figure of a short, dark-skinned woman with kind eyes and a shiteating grin that made Jemilla smile.

Of course, Jemilla hadn’t smiled right then. No, Jemilla panicked and launched herself into the woman’s mind, shrieking and telling the woman to _ leave her alone _. The woman turned away, horror spreading across the masked features of her face, and as soon as Jemilla calmed herself down and saw the mask, she quickly pulled herself from the woman’s mind, leaving her kneeling on the concrete and holding her head.

The woman wore a cool suit, and Jemilla instantly recognized her as War Master. A Hero! How perfect! A Hero was just what Jemilla needed, maybe this War Master could help bring her mother back so that she could sing with Jemilla.

She asked War Master of this, who sadly declined once she had gotten her breath, but Jemilla forgot her disappointment the moment the Hero asked about her powers. Jemilla’s mother had always told her to never tell anyone about her powers, but surely she could trust a Hero. So she did.

For eight years since that day, Jemilla had been living with War Master, who she would come to call Molag, and Molag had taught her about her powers. Molag was hardly around the house, but that was fine because Jemilla knew she was out doing Hero stuff.

When Jemilla was fifteen, Molag started taking her out on missions. Never tough ones, just ones that would sometimes require an extra hand or someone who could step into the minds of people and either sweetly whisper for them to do things or shriek until they rammed their head into the wall and knocked themselves unconscious.

Molag told Jemilla it wasn’t the flashiest power, but that was fine, Hatchetfield wasn’t a flashy town. It was just crappy. Molag always said that any town whose welcome sign said “We’re the Best!” on it was always going to be crappy, but neither Molag nor Jemilla minded. It was a crappy town, but it was _ their _ town.

But now Molag was gone, and the town got crappier and crappier the more gone she was. Jemilla didn’t really want to call herself an orphan. The term just didn’t really fit. She was almost eighteen, and had basically been taking care of herself ever since her mother had died, but now she was _ really _taking care of herself. She wasn’t an orphan. Just alone.

Jemilla wanted to call one of her friends. She wanted to call Schwoopsie, or S.B., or Ducker, or Tiblyn, or Emberly, but she couldn’t. None of them could know. 

Jemilla _ really _wanted to see Zazzalil. The mornings episode hadn’t left her mind and the look in Zazzalil’s chocolate eyes, concern, fear, intensity, hadn’t left her mind. There was something more about the girl that Jemilla couldn’t place her finger on, and it had been driving her crazy. She decided she’d try and seek Zazzalil out tomorrow. They were not even remotely in similar friend groups, but being Class President had its social perks.

Jemilla shook the thoughts from her head and picked up her mask. Her color scheme had been picked out by Molag, the standard black accented with all blues and whites, and it complimented her features nicely. 

The shoulderless crop top that went all the way up her neck into a face mask that pulled up over her nose gave way to mesh at the shoulders and stomach before eventually leading to long pants, whose sides were cut out and filled with the mesh. Bands wrapped around her arms, one containing the Tribe patch, and her insignia, a blue-tipped white feather, lay in the middle of the top.

And, of course, the hooded cape, a beautiful mix of blues that ombre’d into black at the bottom, was the final touch to the outfit.

Shit, it sure as hell looked cool. 

Jemilla frowned as she grabbed her mask from off of her desk. It was a standard, Tribe distributed mask with her own touches (Molag had pulled some strings at the Tribe). Four small feather shaped structures jutted from the bottom corners, two on each side. Where the eyes would have been there were white shields, standard Hero procedure as to not make retinal identification possible.

Jemilla let out a shaky sigh and put the mask on, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she suddenly found herself no longer staring at Jemilla. She stared at Peacemaker. 

Fear suddenly gripped Jemilla like an icy hand clamped tightly around her throat, and she exhaled sharply before ripping the mask off of her face. Jemilla gulped in large breaths, closing her eyes and trying to steady her shaky hands. 

Molag was gone. Molag was gone and Jemilla couldn’t stop it. But it wasn’t just Molag that was gone from Jemilla’s life.

War Master was gone from Hatchetfield. 

She moaned and dropped the mask, her shaking hands running through her tangled, curly hair. 

What was she thinking? 

She couldn’t _ be _ War Master. She couldn’t just hop in her place like that. It felt like stealing. It felt like Jemilla had an easy shortcut to a path she was told would be long and grueling. 

She wasn’t ready. That much was obvious.

Jemilla’s hands slowly fell to her sides and she looked at the mask that lay on the ground. No. She _ wasn’t _ ready to be a Hero. She wasn’t ready to be what War Master was. 

Jemilla reached down and picked up the mask.

That didn’t matter.

She put it on.

Hatchetfield needed a Hero. 

Hatchetfield needed Peacemaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it’s good you should leave a kudos or a comment or whatever. If not leave. If you like it but are too lazy to do jack shit don’t worry I totally understand


	4. rubatosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m already running out of good words for chapter titles

_ rubatosis: the unsettling awareness of your heartbeat _

The trip home from Beanie’s was always just that, a trip. The busses ran at inconvenient times and could always be relied upon to skip the nearest three stations closest to the cafe where Zazzalil worked.

The fullness of the moon was still brilliant, but a closer inspection and Zazzalil could see it slowly beginning to ebb closer into itself. She was grateful that the clouds had cleared, but the early April crispness that still hung in the air made her throat feel dry and raw as she walked down the sidewalk.

Her interaction with Jemilla hadn’t left her mind. It itched and nagged, a welcome distraction to battle Zazzalil’s insistent urge to set herself on fire.

At the mere thought of letting her flames envelope her completely, Zazzalil felt her hands shake and the heat that pooled in her stomach swelter briefly. This morning was a close call. She had stuck to her routine the night before, but the realization that Hatchetfield was completely at the mercy of Snarl must have done something to beckon the cold anxiety forward. The little flame she’d produced in the bathroom stall hadn’t been much, but that accompanied with the warmness in Jemilla’s gaze and the fire-like fierceness of her hug had been enough to calm the illness of not lighting her fire.

Zazzalil closed her eyes and exhaled a light breath. She needed to get Jemilla out of her mind. However, when she went to do so, the image of Snarl’s glossy yellow eyes flashed across her vision and the cold fear was back.

Zazzalil frowned. She’d had no training, no preparation. Nothing. Perhaps she’d hidden her powers too well, and so nobody from the Tribe had reached out to her. Or maybe she was just supposed to declare herself a Hero without any permission.

Zazzalil sighed, confused. She knew she wasn’t by any means ready to take on the mantle of Hero, but the more Hatchetfield remained silent and Hero-less, the more nervous Zazzalil found herself becoming. No, she couldn’t. Could she? 

Zazzalil wished she was more familiar with the process herself, it would surely help her to know what to do. She had a strong, powerful ability and no proactive use for it except for insta-warm food. This was much different from insta-warm food. 

This was being certain in your abilities, something Zazzalil was not.

This was having complete and total control over your powers, something Zazzalil did not have.

And most of all, it meant being responsible. Zazzalil was certainly not responsible.

She sighed and shoved her hands deeper into her hoodie pocket, freezing slightly when she heard a clatter sound from behind her. Zazzalil turned around, eyeing the alleyway she had just passed. She was like that for a moment before she turned back around and began walking, her pace picking up. 

There was another clattering noise that Zazzalil didn’t look back for. And then footsteps. Zazzalil felt fear crawl up her throat and she began to walk faster. The footsteps behind her began to pick up in stride, and that’s when Zazzalil broke out into a near run.

“Hey! You!” Zazzalil didn’t bother to see who was calling her as she began to sprint. Whoever was behind her returned the favor, and the fear that pitted inside Zazzalil grew. She quickly reached for her fire, fist closing in preparation. The man hadn’t seen her face, so as far as Zazzalil was concerned using her powers was fair game. She was preparing to stop and turn but suddenly a hand grabbed tightly onto her shoulder, spinning her around.

“_ Shit _,” Zazzalil cried out as she came face-to-face with a scraggly, drunken man with narrowed hazel eyes and a look in them that made a cold shiver run down Zazzalil’s spine. Without a second thought, she punched him, curses flying from under his breath as he staggered back and a whimper flying from hers as she shook her hand.

“You bitch,” the man seethed as he regained his balance, and without a moment’s hesitation he readied to lunge at Zazzalil. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, reaching for the flame, when suddenly there was a surprised yell, a grunt, and then the sound of skin pummeling into skin.

Zazzalil opened her eyes, and was surprised to see… a Hero? She was tall, wearing a mixture of mesh and skin suit that all sported a black, blue, and white theme. The turquoise cape the Hero wore that ombréd into black fluttered gently in the cold April breeze as she slammed her fist into the man’s face, watching as he staggered back.

“This guy bothering you?” She asked Zazzalil, who was at a loss for words. The man growled and stumbled forward, taking a wild swing at the Hero that she sidestepped with cat-like agility. Another punch, another miss, though this time accompanied with a cracking sound as the Hero slammed her elbow into the man’s side. 

He yelled and reached into his jacket, the entire world slowed to a stop when he suddenly pulled out a gun. Zazzalil felt a tight knot grow in her throat. He’d had a _ gun _?

The Hero paused. Zazzalil couldn’t see her eyes due to the white shield of the mask, but the Hero’s head tilted slightly her way. “Sir,” she said slowly, “put down the gun.”

“No,” the man shook his head quickly, fear evident in his eyes, “no. You have to let me walk out of this. If I’d have known…” he trailed off, but the meaning was apparent. “Who _ are _ you?”

A small smile curled the Hero’s mouth. She took a small step forward, “my name is Peacemaker.” And with those four words, the Hero, Peacemaker, lunged forward. The man panicked and squeezed the trigger, a loud gunshot ripping through the silence of the night that made Zazzalil gasp and stumble backwards, falling down. 

She looked down at herself, no gunshot wound. Fear rippled through her and she quickly looked up at the Hero, but Peacemaker had dodged the bullet and now had the man by the throat. Zazzalil expected him to try to shoot her again, but, to her surprise, the man wasn’t doing anything. He stood, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead.

Zazzalil raised an eyebrow, concentrating on the man. She felt her heart throb in her chest at an alarming rate. His hands twitched slightly and his head jerked to the side. What was she doing to him? Peacemaker narrowed her eyes and squeezed harder. The man let out a choked gasp, struggling to say a few words. 

“G-Get out. Out. Get out of- _ ahh! _” He shrieked and Zazzalil found herself scooting back away from the horrific scene. The man’s hands raised to his head, his fingers squeezing his skull. His body began to thrash violently about in Peacemaker’s grip, veins bulging and eyes threatening to roll back into his head.

The man screamed, and then ripped himself from Peacemaker’s hold, throwing his body down at an awkward angle. Zazzalil gasped as the man dropped head first onto the concrete, his skull bouncing against the sidewalk. He then lay still, a twisted mass on the ground.

Zazzalil stared at him, her mouth hanging open and fear in her eyes. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the body and part of her wondered if he was dead. She could _ hear _her heartbeat now. It pulsed in her ringing ears and with such an intensity she could practically feel it in her fingertips. She barely registered Peacemaker’s words.

“Well. That could have been cleaner.” She cleared her throat, then turned to Zazzalil. “Are you alright?”

Zazzalil’s wide gaze didn’t leave the man on the sidewalk. “Did you- did you…”

“Kill him? No.”

“What did… what did you _ do _to him?”

Peacemaker noted the fear in Zazzalil’s eyes and sighed. She held her hand out for the girl to take. Zazzalil finally looked up at Peacemaker, and hesitantly took her hand. “Come on,” said the Hero quietly, “let me get you something to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boi danger prone zazzalil at it again


	5. basorexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shits abt to get interesting

_ basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss _

“The short of it is that I can crawl into people's minds,” Jemilla said. Zazzalil stared at her, looking into the white shields of the mask, hopefully not trying to decipher if her voice was familiar or not. Peacemaker’s entrance into the Hero world was dramatic, and  _ of course _ it had to be with someone she knew outside of the mask.

Zazzalil sipped on the coffee Peacemaker had gotten for her (there had been looks. They were ignored.) with narrowed eyes. They sat with their legs hanging over the roof of Beanie’s, soft features illuminated by the moon. The rooftop garden of Beanie’s, where fresh herbs and the scarce tomatoes were grown, glowed dimly with a new majesty. Zazzalil mentioned never having seen the garden at night. It was beautiful.

“And you control their minds?”

“No!” Jemilla exclaimed, and Zazzalil tilted her head to the side at the defensiveness in her voice. “No it’s not, not like that. It’s more I tell them what to do and sometimes they do it.”

“So you… control their minds.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jemilla said with an exasperated smile. “If somebody doesn’t realize I’ve taken temporary residence in their mind, then they’re easier to direct. I’ll usually just whisper suggestions and they’ll think that it was their own idea and they’ll do it. If somebody fights my presence, then things get trickier.”

An interested look spread across Zazzalil’s face, “so it's more of a mental battle?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s cool. You’re cool.”

Jemilla smiled softly, averting her gaze from Zazzalil’s face. “Thanks. It’s, uh. It’s hard work but. I’m learning. I guess.”

Zazzalil tilted her head to the side. “How old are you?”

“17.”

“Oh shit.”

Jemilla cleared her throat, “yeah.”

“How did you become a Hero? How did you get this stuff? I mean, how is any of this…” she trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Jemilla didn’t look at Zazzalil, instead staring at the ground in front of them. “My dad wasn’t around. My mom died when I was nine. And War Master raised me.”

Zazzalil practically choked on her coffee, “War Master  _ raised  _ you?”

“Sort of.”

“Oh fuck. I’m so… I’m so sorry.” Jemilla didn’t answer, she just tilted her head up towards the moon, letting the pale light wash across her skin and send dark shadows across her face. Zazzalil took a nervous sip of her coffee. “But uh, I’m an orphan too. Actually.”

Jemilla looked at the smaller girl, her head angled to the side. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, uh. My mom died in a car crash when I was five and my dad was killed by Trunkell when I was nine.” Jemilla winced at the mention of the terrifying, mammoth-like, water-bending Rogue that had been slain by War Master after flooding the city and claiming many civilian lives in the process. “And since then I’ve been at a group home.”

“Oh, I see. And you didn’t have any…”

Zazzalil let out a dry laugh, “I have an aunt, her name’s Emma. She was never really parent-material though. The first time I met her was at my mom's funeral. They hadn’t really been that close. But after my dad died and I went into the system, she moved back to Hatchetfield. Started going to community college. She’s studying botany. Wants to start a pot farm. I see her usually once a week, we’ll go out for coffee or something. Look, she’s my background.”

Zazzalil excitedly pulled her phone out and opened it to the lock screen, showing two smiling faces. 

“Wow,” Jemilla said, “you guys look a lot alike.”

Zazzalil laughed, and Jemilla was glad for the change of mood in the conversation. “So we’ve been told.”

There was a small silence, and the two of them stared at each other. Jemilla felt a lump form in her throat. She suddenly had the urge to rip her mask off and show Zazzalil her true identity, but she knew it couldn’t happen. 

“Hey,” Zazzalil said suddenly, a heartwarmingly bright smile stretching across her face, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you try to whisper to me?”

Jemilla blinked, startled for a moment. “What?”

“I wanna know what it feels like.”

“That’s… that’s a terrible idea.”

Zazzalil set her coffee down and raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? Or maybe you just can’t do it.”

Jemilla let out a scoff, shaking her head. “Oh, sure, sure. That’s totally the reason.”

Zazzalil nodded with false seriousness, “I knew it. One of the few times I regret being right. I’m just… too… strong.” With that she placed the back of her hand on her forehead, eyes closing as she pretended to swoon into Jemilla’s shoulder.

Jemilla laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. “How do you know you can trust me?”

Zazzalil smiled as she sat back up, “I don’t know. It’s not because you’re a Hero as much as you’re just… genuine.” She looked Jemilla straight in the eye, and for a moment Jemilla could have sworn she saw straight through the eye shields. Jemilla felt herself melt a little bit inside. Genuine. She wasn’t exactly sure what that was supposed to mean but she felt extremely flattered anyway.

They held each other’s stare for a moment, and Jemilla found her gaze unconsciously falling down to Zazzalil’s lips. She was suddenly glad for the eye shields in her mask as she felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. God, it would be so stereotypical of her if she just leaned in, let her eyes fall shut, and-

“Well?” Jemilla was wrenched from her daydreams and she felt her face burn in embarrassment when Zazzalil spoke up.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re cute.” Jemilla was pleased to see shock lift Zazzalil’s features, a look that was soon replaced by a small smile and bright red cheeks.

Jemilla cleared her throat and stretched her neck. Zazzalil shifted excitedly. Jemilla raised one hand, letting it sit on the smaller girl’s shoulder. She let her fingers rest lightly against the bare skin on Zazzalil’s neck, forcing down a grin when she felt the girl shudder underneath her touch.

Jemilla inhaled deeply, and felt herself fall out of her body and into Zazzalil’s. She knew the other girl couldn’t see it happening under the white shields of her mask, but Jemilla’s eyes rolled briefly into her head, only to return sporting the same, hazelnut brown of Zazzalil’s eyes. She stiffened. Jemilla whispered.

“ _ Look at me _ .” Without a moment’s hesitation, Zazzalil’s gaze snapped towards Jemilla’s, her eyes wide and glossy. “ _ Relax. _ ” Zazzalil’s tense muscles loosened, and the breath she had been holding streamed from her mouth. “ _ Lean forward, closer to me. _ ” Zazzalil did as she was told, and Jemilla could feel the smaller girls pulse begin to pick up under her touch.

Suddenly, Jemilla lifted her fingers from Zazzalil’s skin, severing the connection. Zazzalil inhaled sharply as the Hero’s mind was suddenly wrenched from her body, and she looked at Jemilla with wide, questioning eyes.

“Now, kiss me,” Jemilla spoke, her tone low and husky but still gentle and soft. Surprise flickered lightly across Zazzalil’s features, but her gaze dropped to Jemilla’s lips. She didn’t reply, only leaned forward, beginning to close what little space was left between them, and let her eyes flutter shut. Jemilla mimicked her actions, and then their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The train has just pulled into complication station


	6. photo intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD TO PUT PICTURES ON THIS GODDAMN WEBSITE FUCK

here we see jemilla's peacemaker outfit.

i didnt actually draw her just the outfit.

i spent so long making this tribe logo.

that is the logo of the Tribe.

thank you.

it has come to my attention that these do not work. Don’t know what I expected, but I posted them on tumblr so here’s the link:

[[x]](https://bi-gstupid.tumblr.com/post/187741231558/so-in-that-superhero-jazzalil-au-i-wrote-the)

I hope it works.


	7. sehnsucht

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is that chapter title german

_ sehnsucht: the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what _

Zazzalil had to admit, she didn’t know many things. How to apologize, how to do a cartwheel, how to spell entrepreneur; pretty much how to interact with anybody ever. But, there were a few consecutive things that Zazzalil was sure of. 

Firstly, Peacemaker was a good kisser. A _ really _good kisser. She tasted like spearmint and happiness and Zazzalil felt consumed by her mentally and, if she wasn’t going to lie, physically. However, this one did come with things Zazzalil found herself unsure about. Mainly her complete lack of any idea as to how the situation would or should progress.

Secondly, Peacemaker needed help. Zazzalil could see it in her face. An intense sadness that leaked into her beautiful features when War Master was mentioned. She was alone. 

At night, in bed, as the events of that night looped through her mind on replay, Zazzalil let violet fire burst onto the tips of her fingers, like candles. She felt alone, too. The last person to have known about Zazzalil’s powers was her father, but he was dead. She so desperately wanted to tell somebody. Anybody. 

And she couldn’t find a good reason not to.

What would happen? 

She would tell somebody, and that somebody would tell another somebody, and sooner or later the Tribe of Heroes would alerted. They’d send someone down to retrieve her, train her, and Zazzalil would go off and become a Hero. Worst case scenario Snarl would be alerted first and he and Zazzalil would have to fight. But it wasn’t Snarl she was scared of.

Zazzalil clenched her fist and extinguished the flames.

In all honesty, she wasn’t sure _ what _she was scared of. Her dad had always hidden her powers from the world ever since she burst into flames for the first time throwing a temper tantrum at the ripe old age of 4 years old. 

He’d died before she could ask why.

Maybe he didn’t want her to be a Hero. Maybe he thought that the lifestyle was dangerous and not worth it. Maybe he didn’t want the Tribe to steal her from him. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Zazzalil rolled over onto her side. She wished she could ask him. She wished she could gather up the courage to tell someone. She could tell Keeri. She could tell Aunt Emma. Fuck, she could probably even tell happy-go-lucky Class President Jemilla. They’d all help her. Zazzalil rolled her eyes.

But it was her secret. And her secret it would remain.

However, there was still one last, third thing that Zazzalil knew for certain. She attracted trouble.

Always had, always would. Her dad had been telling her that for as long as she could remember. 

She attracted trouble in the form of fruit going bad hours after buying it from the grocery store. She attracted trouble in the form of asshole-ish customers waltzing into Beanie’s 2 minutes before closing time. She attracted trouble in the form of walking in on cute girls crying in the bathroom. She attracted trouble in the form of random muggers. 

She attracted trouble in the form of a massive goddamn super villain who of-fucking-course had _ water-bending _ powers and she attracted trouble in the form of a massive flood that trapped her father in the basement with no amount of summoned fire able to get him out.

And, oh yes, Zazzalil attracted trouble in the form of this Peacemaker. Because she certainly was, if anything, trouble. Zazzalil could feel it in her bones. That damned smirk, that damned laugh, those damned lips as they trailed down Zazzalil’s neck.

Trouble with a capital T. 

And she was sure she was right. Peacemaker needed help. In the form of a reckless, purple-fire-wielding teenager? Probably not. But a reckless, purple-fire-wielding teenager was the best Zazzalil could do so it would _ have _ to do.

Trouble or not, Zazzalil suddenly came to a last, fourth realization. 

She was going to need a mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that chapter title is german


	8. kilig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy let’s throw a twist into this plot

_ kilig: the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic _

Oh, yes. Jemilla was in trouble. Zazzalil tasted like lavender smoke and chai tea and it was the most infuriatingly addictive thing she had ever bore witness to. 

Had she expected the night to take a turn like that? No. But she was glad that it did? Absolutely.

In the morning, Jemilla knew that she’d have to scope out Zazzalil as herself, no mask. It was time for badass, cape wearing Peacemaker to step down and for mentally-crumbling, cries-in-the-bathroom Jemilla to step up and save some face.

She took her time with the makeup, took her time with the outfit, ignored the empty sound her feet made as they smacked against the wood floors of War Master’s home, and then left for school.

Emberly and Tiblyn were the first to catch up to Jemilla as she power walked through the building after homeroom, both having to slightly jog in order to keep up with her long strides.

“Where the hell are you going in such a rush?” Emberly asked, pushing up her thick rimmed glasses as they fell down her nose.

“I have first period free, and I’m looking for someone.”

“Well, slow down and maybe we can help you.” Jemilla stopped and dragged her friends to the side of the hall in order to avoid causing any foot traffic as students made their way to their first class. 

“Do either of you know where I can find Zazzalil?”

Emberly and Tiblyn exchanged a glance. “Zazzalil Lopez?” Tiblyn asked, “why do you need to find her?”

“It’s nothing, I just do.”

“Uh, she’s in third period art with me and Grant,” Emberly offered, making a smile light Jemilla’s face.

“Yes, awesome, thank you. I’ll see you guys!” And without another word, Jemilla zipped down the hall to the library, leaving Emberly and Tiblyn standing in the hall, look at each other in bewilderment.

“Crush? Obsession? Or just her doing the weird Class President thing,” Emberly asked Tiblyn. The other girl shrugged.

“Honestly, it seems like a little bit of all three.”

The next two periods flew by so quickly, it seemed like Jemilla barely had time to compose what she was going to say in her head before she found herself skipping Film Analysis II (Mr. Ted gave zero shits as long as you did well on the tests, and even then the amount of shits given were not much) and heading to the art room.

She saw Emberly and her boyfriend, the man-bun sporting art dork named Grant, sitting across from each other working on their pieces. They both looked up at Jemilla and waved, a wave that she returned, but soon her gaze zeroed in on Zazzalil Lopez.

The girl was sitting in the back corner of the room in the small couch that the art teacher had dragged to school from a yard sale a few years back, her knees drawn up to her chest and a concentrated look on her face as she sketched in her notebook. Jemilla felt her heart skip a beat at the way Zazzalil’s nose scrunched and her head tilted to the side in absolute focus, and she suddenly felt bad for going to break her concentration.

She was about to turn around and abandon ship altogether when Zazzalil suddenly looked up, feeling Jemilla’s hesitant stare on her.

“Uh, hi?” Zazzalil asked, one eyebrow raised. Jemilla swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled. 

“Hey.” At this, all words were suddenly lost on Jemilla’s tongue, resulting in her staring at Zazzalil with an awkward smile in total silence. The girl looked side to side, clicking her tongue.

“You… good?”

“What? Yeah. Oh yeah. Fine. Can I sit?” Jemilla sat on the couch by a bewildered Zazzalil before she could respond. “What are drawing? Nevermind, I don’t want to intrude. How are you?”

A small, hesitant smile curled Zazzalil’s lips. “It’s fine,” she said, “I don’t mind. Here.” She showed Jemilla the notebook, and the taller of the two was shocked to see herself. Well, not technically herself, it was a pencil drawing of Peacemaker. 

“Wow,” Jemilla said as she leaned closer, inspecting the careful details on the cape and the outfit. She even had the bottom curls of the mask done right. “This is incredible.”

“Thanks. She’s Hatchetfield’s new Hero. Her name’s Peacemaker.”

Struck with the sudden realization that she wasn’t supposed to know who Peacemaker was yet, Jemilla sat up quickly, feigning surprise. “Really? And you met her?”

“She saved me.”

“Saved you? Are you hurt at all?”

“No, I’m fine. Just… a mugger. I think.”

“Oh. Right.”

They were silent for a moment, Jemilla ignoring the fact that she could feel Zazzalil’s questioning stare burning right into her face, and when she did manage to force down the fear (fear? Embarrassment? Cowardice?) and meet the girls stare, she was surprised to find Zazzalil looking her directly in the eyes, a trait not usually found among people.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, you know,” Zazzalil said carefully. Jemilla felt fear (undoubtedly fear this time) shoot down her spine and her eyes grew wide.

“S-Sorry?”

“About the bathroom,” Zazzalil explained, and Jemilla held back a long sigh of relief, “the… crying. The hug- my lips are sealed.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I came to talk about. I’m sure almost everybody here has had a mental breakdown or two in the school bathrooms.” 

Zazzalil chuckled, “alright J-Mills—I see you. What did you want to talk about then?”

J-Mills. Jemilla was surprised with herself for not going into buffer mode right then and there. “Right. I actually just wanted to check up on you. See how you were doing. I felt pretty terrible yesterday but you didn’t look too hot yourself.”

“What gave it away?”

“You came crashing through the bathroom door and ran into the wall.”

“Yeah that would do it,” she laughed dryly, “I’m fine. I was just feeling a little… off.”

“And ‘off’ is supposed to constitute complete directional and spatial disorientation?” Zazzalil grinned and Jemilla could feel the girl’s smile spread to her own face.

“You’ve got me there.”

There was yet another silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward. The warm smile on Jemilla’s face grew as Zazzalil peered shyly at her and she could see the same inquisitive look in her honey brown eyes that she had seen as Peacemaker, like Zazzalil was trying to figure her out. 

“Why don’t you come sit with me at lunch? You can tell my friends about this Peacemaker character.”

Zazzalil let out a dry laugh, her cheeks getting slightly red. Then she stopped suddenly, looking at the Class President with a bewildered look. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

Jemilla raised an eyebrow, “uh… yeah.”

“I mean, I’ve got Keeri, and-”

“Bring her. We’d be happy to have you.”

A wary look clouded Zazzalil’s face, “I don’t know. Aren’t your friends… you know…” Jemilla tilted her head to the side as Zazz waved her hands through the air in an odd, lack-of-words motion, “popular?”

To Zazzalil’s surprise, Jemilla laughed. “You think that the Class President and her friends are popular?” 

“Well how else did you become Class President?”

“A good campaign?” Jemilla chuckled at the dumbfounded look on Zazzalil’s face. “And good looks of course,” she continued, with a sly wink at an already red-faced Zazzalil. “Bring Keeri,” she said, standing up, “we sit in the right back. I can’t wait to see you.”

And she left without waiting for a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm there’s a picture next chapter


	9. kairosclerosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if you were the Class President? And I was the school’s resident emo? And we kissed... haha jk.... unless.... 👀

_ kairosclerosis: the moment when you realize you’re happy _

“So we’re sitting… with the Class President… and her posse?”

Zazzalil looked at Keeri with a helpless look in her eyes, “it seems that way.”

Keeri sputtered, “alright I guess? Is that them over there?”

Zazzalil took a deep breath as she saw Jemilla sitting with her crew. She recognized a few of them, in fact, she was friends with S.B. as he lived in the Home with her. Zazz grinded her teeth lightly, quickly turning to Keeri.

“We should go. This isn’t a good idea.”

The blonde looked behind Zazzalil’s shoulder and let out a small snort. “Looks like it’s a little late for that. We’ve been spotted by your girlfriend.” Horrified, Zazzalil didn’t even get the chance to retort as she turned around. Oh no. Jemilla caught her eye and she smiled and waved her over, her dark, round eyes disappearing in an impossibly wide smile. Fuck, how could she say no to that face?

“Alright,” Zazzalil said, “into the unknown.”

Keeri shrugged, “no turning back,” and the two of carefully picked their way past the hordes of lunch tables and students.

Jemilla stood up to greet them as they approached the lunch table, and the vaguely familiar faces peered curiously up at the new arrivals. 

“Guys, I’m sure you know Zazzalil and Keeri.” Zazzalil did an awkward nod, Keeri smiled and waved. “Uh, this is Tiblyn, Chorn, Schwoopsie, S.B., Ducker, Emberly, and Grant.”

“It’s actually Grun-”

“Welcome to the gang, guys,” S.B. said, and Zazzalil shot him an appreciative look as she and Keeri sat down across from Jemilla. “Basic introductions time?” He glanced at Jemilla, who smiled and nodded her approval.

“Cool then. I’m S.B., he/him, Zazz and I know each other from the Home.” He turned his head to Tiblyn, acknowledging for her to go next.

“Oh right. I’m Tiblyn, I’ve got calc with you, Keeri. Professor Up is kind of a tough bitch. She/her. Chorn’s my partner. That’s all I suppose.”

All eyes turned to Chorn, who sat across Tiblyn. Their dark red hair was a tangled mess atop their head and they barely looked up from their food as they spoke. “Chorn. They/them.”

“Schwoopsie. She/her or they/them, I don’t really care. I think I’ve got Bioethics and Lit with Zazzalil and PE with Keeri.” They all smiled as Zazzalil chuckled nervously.

“Bioethics. Hard shit,” she said, almost immediately wanting to slap herself for the awkwardness she was sure she exuded. Schwoopsie, however, only giggled and nodded in agreement.

“And I’m Ducker,” said the tall, brown haired boy that Keeri sat next to, “he/him. I’m taking Theology and I think I’ve got US History with Keeri but I’m not sure. I don’t really have any friends in that class.”

Keeri perked up, “me neither.” There was a small pause of heavy contemplation that was quickly followed by realization and relief washed over the two of them.

“I’m Grunt, he/him. Everybody calls me Grant though but-”

“Isn’t my Grant the  _ cutest _ ,” the girl with the thick, black glasses beside him interrupted. “I’m Emberly,

she/her, and I’ve got art with Zazz.”

All stares turned expectantly to Zazzalil, who felt herself grow hot under the sudden attention. “Uh, I’m Zazzalil. Lopez. Zazzalil Lopez. She/her. I guess that’s pretty much,” she paused and clicked her tongue, “pretty much it.”

“I’m Keeri,” the blonde quickly spoke up after Zazzalil had finished talking to help the girl avoid further opportunities for social ineptitude, “she/her. I like to dance, I like your glasses,” she looked pointedly at Emberly, who smiled, “and I’m glad to get to meet all of you guys.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Jemilla spoke up. “Zazzalil, actually, has some news.” She looked at the small girl with warm eyes, and suddenly the fear that had been coursing through Zazz like ice rinsed away. 

“Oh. Right. There’s a new Hero in town.” A chorus of “ooh”s and “really?”s rose from the table, and Zazzalil shushed them quickly, her eyes darting around the lunch room. “I’m not sure if I should be telling anyone, she hasn’t gone public yet, but her name’s Peacemaker and she’s super cool.”

“Wait,” Schwoopsie interrupted, “you  _ met _ her?”

“Oh yeah. We certainly met,” she said with a loud snort, earning her a few confused stares. Zazzalil cleared her throat in embarrassment, “I mean. She saved me last night from a mugger. I was on my way back from work, it had been just me closing and it took a little longer than usual, and I was chased on my way to the Home.”

“Is that why you were late?” S.B. asked, shock brimming in his eyes, “why didn’t you tell Sherrezade or J.F.?”

“I didn’t want them to be worried. They run a huge ass Foster Home for Christ’s sake, they’ve got enough on their plates,” Zazzalil said with a shrug. She looked up at Jemilla, who was watching her with a small smile. Zazzalil wished she could make out what the small smile meant, but on Jemilla’s face, it was impossible to tell. It seemed almost familiar, with a touch of mischief and a touch of warmth and kindness. No wonder she was Class President. She was just overall trusting. Overall genuine.

“They probably could have helped,” S.B. insisted, “I mean, I go to Sherrezade for basically every little problem I have.” He chuckled and Zazzalil gave him a guilty grin.

“I wasn’t hurt. Just a little shaken. Plus, Peacemaker walked me home and, uh, comforted me. I’m fine, really.”

“What are her powers? What does she look like?” Ducker asked excitedly, and all at once the entire table seemed to lean a little closer to Zazzalil. The fear returned and began to creep up her spine, but one look at the frustratingly encouraging smile on Jemilla’s face and the anxiety disappeared instantly. 

It was odd. Around Jemilla, Zazzalil didn’t seem to have the need to reach for her fire whenever something even slightly problematic doused her entire system in cold dread.

Jemilla seemed to provide the warmth that Zazzalil needed. She returned the smile with a happy grin of her own, and Jemilla’s smirk widened. Fuck, was it cute.

“She’s really cool,” Zazzalil began slowly, “she can do this sort of- telepathic projection type thing where she can crawl into a person's mind and whisper for them to do things.”

“Wow,” Emberly said, and similar murmurs rose from the crowd. Zazzalil continued excitedly upon seeing the interest she had sparked.

“Except she wasn’t really whispering for the mugger to do anything. According to her, she was shrieking in his mind and he couldn’t get her out. Eventually he just… smashed his own head on the ground and knocked himself unconscious.”

“Bad _ ass _ ,” S.B. remarked.

“That seems a little… disturbing,” Emberly said hesitantly. Zazzalil shrugged.

“Oh it was, trust me. Definitely not the prettiest way to defeat a Rogue. But Peacemaker was just so…” hot, sexy, overall pleasant, hot, “genuine. I could easily forgive the scene. Plus, she did save my life, and if not my life, then the $11 I made in tip money that I had with me.”

Zazzalil was pleased to find the comment earned laughter from the group, and she looked at Keeri excitedly. The blonde gaze her a look that felt similar to a thumbs up, and, Zazzalil then looked at Jemilla. The tall girl smiled and winked, and then, blushing, Zazzalil grinned lightly and curled tightly into her brown, purple, and white striped hoodie.

The rest of the conversation flowed with ease, and a new feeling swelled inside Zazzalil. It had the same feel as her fire, but it wasn’t as demanding or furious. This was soft and pleasant.

As Zazzalil checked out a cheap, plastic mask from her local Walmart later that night, she was shocked to realize that the loneliness had disappeared and was replaced with… whatever  _ this _ was. She smiled softly as she handed the cashier the money to purchase the mask. It felt nice. It felt like the way Jemilla’s eyes looked and it felt like the way Peacemaker’s lips tasted. 

Just… nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistency in chapter lengths? Never heard of her.


	10. quondam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zip across the city with me

> _ quondam: belonging to some time long past; once but no longer _

Before she left for the night, Jemilla went rooting through old tech that Molag had tucked away in the basement. The TV was on, and on it Jemilla could hear that they had just released War Master’s identity and the video from when Jemilla dropped her body off at the police station. Jemilla had been careful not show her face and to wear her mask and a black hoodie in case she did, but usually releasing identities marked the end of the initial mourning period.

Jemilla frowned as she dug through the basement, her eyes glossing over slightly as she remembered that night. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. Molag had specifically told her not to be there. That Snarl was too dangerous. It had been for that exact reason that Jemilla had gone. And then she what—didn’t do anything? Didn’t do  _ anything _ . 

Jemilla squeezed her eyes shut tightly and wiped away a few angry tears. She didn’t want to come to peace with it yet, so she shoved the guilt and rage down and continued looking through the basement.

Molag had always said that she and Jemilla were not blessed with the kind of powers that allowed quick and easy transportation, and that most of the time it was a matter of being in the right place at the right time (this actually wasn’t true; Molag could force seismic blasts from the soles of her feet that could launch her through the air with shocking majesty, but the problem was the property damage left in place and that using her powers so often was draining, anyway). Molag had used a fancy hover board issued by Tribe to high class members.

Molag, being a high class member, was often given all sorts of useful knickknacks, but as far as transportation went, the hover board was her favorite. A turtle was carved into it, Molag’s insignia, and it was mostly black but with touches of the dark red and green that War Master had sported.

Jemilla had never liked it. It was hard to control, and while it did allow her to zoom around the city at heights of up to ten feet off the ground going almost forty-five miles per hour, it was terrifying. She could never understand the rush Molag got from it as she carefully teetered to the side to swerve between and above traffic on the chase for some bank robber or something.

Jemilla preferred the small, but still just as useful, gadgets. Her eyes widened as she pulled out a heavy pair of boots. Oh yes.  _ These _ she was familiar with. Now if only she could find the gear that went with- bingo.

The Leapy Boots. They weren’t actually called Leapy Boots, they had some stupid acronym or something, but a young Jemilla had called them Leapy Boots and Leapy Boots they would stay. 

They followed the same sort of idea as Molag’s seismic blasts, except instead of the power shooting downwards and leaving craters in a three feet radius of them, the boots sent power through a wider, more dispersed area that allowed her to go flying through the air without leaving potholes wherever she went.

Of course, this was extremely dangerous, especially the landing part (you were supposed to send juts of energy through as you came falling to the ground to soften the landing but it was bone-rattling anyway and had caused the Tribe to stop distributing them after a year or two), so Jemilla had paired them with her favorite extending and retracting grappling hook, the Reachy Hook. 

Not only did the hook allow Jemilla the time to prepare the landing bursts of energy, but it could get her farther and faster. Especially in such a building-crammed city like Hatchetfield, transportation via Leapy Boots and Reachy Hook was convenient and easy for those who’d had tons of training using them, like Jemilla.

She couldn’t hold back a smirk as she slipped on the boots and felt them lock into her feet’s measurements, immediately hissing out air and tightening comfily around her feet and ankles. Jemilla had spray painted them and had etched her insignia, a feather, into the boots years ago, and though both were slightly faded, they were still visible. The grappling hook attached to her pants and the handle of it opened and closed to attach tightly like a glove around her hand, and Jemilla studied it carefully. Holding down the button on the side made the arm of the gadget extend rapidly, and the concept of it was somewhat similar to that of a whip, except if the whip got longer when you snapped it out and had a hook at the end.

Jemilla narrowed her eyes and snapped the hook out, holding onto the button as she did and watching the arm grow. She released the button moments before the hook thunked against the wall and it snapped back into itself. Jemilla’s grin widened. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed these.

Jemilla put on her mask and wrapped her cape around her shoulders, flicking up the wide hood and peering out the window from under it. It was cloudy. Not rainy, but dark grey wisps hung in front of the shrinking moon and covered the stars. Jemilla slid small wrist-lights around her hands before slipping into the night.

She tapped the tips of her toes on the heels of each foot, feeling the boots power to life. Grappling hook attached to her hand, Jemilla lowered her stance, haunched her shoulders, and then shot up, the boots blasting energy beneath her and sending her flying through the crisp air. Jemilla reached her arm back and snapped the grappling hook forward, holding down the button. 

The arm shot out and the hook caught on the chimney of a nearby house. Jemilla barely had time to smile as she released the button and was suddenly wrenched through the air. As the chimney came quickly towards her, Jemilla grunted and used a light energy burst from the boots to soften her crash into the side of the house. Her feet rammed against it with a dull thud, and Jemilla huffed with effort as the grappling hook pulled her up onto the roof top.

She took a few deep breaths on top of the roof, her eyes wide. “I’m going to need to practice that,” she muttered to herself. All in all, however, she hadn’t done terribly, and Jemilla smiled lightly. Molag used to rate her bounds out of ten. That would have probably been a solid five, in which case Molag would sigh and shake her head in mock disappointment.

“ _ I’m surprised you didn’t wake up half the neighborhood crashing into the wall like that _ ,” Molag would say, and Jemilla would smile and shrug and say:

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Jemilla whispered it under her breath. Much to her reprieve, the tears sprung in her eyes again, but this time she couldn’t wipe them away under the mask. Instead, Jemilla sniffed and leapt off the roof with a burst of energy from the boots, snapping the grappling hook out and feeling herself swing through the cold air. It stung her lungs and the crispness of the air made her cheeks grow red, but she didn’t mind. The thought of Molag swarmed her mind, much like it had the night before when she’d fought the mugger.

Molag would have agreed that it was definitely not the cleanest of battles, but it had done the job. And then she’d gotten talking with Zazzalil, and the thought of her dead mentor had disappeared, replaced by those honey brown eyes. And then the talking had been replaced by… something else, and the  _ only  _ thing Jemilla could think about for that blissful ten minutes (or was it five? Or twenty?) were those eyes. 

Now, Jemilla’s thoughts wandered aimlessly as she grappled from rooftop to rooftop, running perpendicular along the walls of various building before pushing off and grappling to another one. Vaguely, Jemilla remembered playing a similar game when she was young where she would swing and leap throughout the narrow alleyways in the middle of the night with Molag, seeing how long she could go without touching the street.

The sharp pain stabbed through Jemilla’s chest again and the momentary distraction caused her foot to slip against the brick as she went crashing into the wall. She released the button on the grappling hook and soon shot upward as the arm quickly retracted, and Jemilla soon found herself lying on her back on a flat rooftop. She groaned and sat up slowly, rubbing her shoulder. 

“Shit,” she moaned lowly before surveying the area. Jemilla felt her heart skip a beat. The building marked the edge of a familiar, lightly wooded clearing. The park where Snarl had killed Molag. “Typical,” Jemilla scoffed and she connected the grappling hook to the edge of the roof and gently lowered herself down.

As Jemilla surveyed the scene, she felt something cold creep up her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Something wasn’t right here. She flicked her wrists and the lights around them glowed. The moon was still hidden, and the light from Jemilla’s flashlights cast long, eerie shadows across the park. Jemilla winced.

There was the spot where Snarl had picked up Molag’s body, and there was the spot where he had dropped it. There was the tree she had hid behind. Jemilla frowned and walked to the tree, running her hand along the bark. Her eyes squeezed shut and hot tears flowed from under her mask. 

Suddenly, Jemilla froze. Goosebumps rose on her arms and the cold feeling washed over her body once more. Jemilla whipped around and a small scream left her mouth.

Snarl stood right in front of her, his yellow eyes glinting in the light from Jemilla’s wrist-lights and his hulking body towering over her. Jemilla prepared a swift punch to the face but Snarl was ahead of her, raising his arm and deftly backhanding her across the face.

The mere force of the blow sent Jemilla skidding into the grass, and she got up slower than she would have liked.

“I knew you’d come back here, little one. And look, now you’re all dolled up before I end this. I’m flattered.”

A frown etched into Jemilla’s face and her eyes narrowed in concentration, “I dress for me,” she muttered before rushing in on Snarl. She managed to dodge his next blow and even land one herself, a solid jab to the ribs.

It did nothing. Snarl even laughed.

“Oh, little one. You’re going to have to do  _ so _ much better than that.” Jemilla groaned before rushing him again. Snarl easily brushed off her next punch, and delivered a kick to the backs of her knees that sent her face first into the grass once more.

“I have to say,” Snarl said, “I’m a bit disappointed in you, child. I expected more out of War Master’s protege. What is it you’re calling yourself now? Peacemaker? It’s a weak name, little one.”

He raised his clawed foot to come stomping down on Jemilla, but a voice from a few yards away made him pause.

“Hey, whiskers!” Snarl growled and turned around, and Jemilla’s head shot up. A girl stood close by, a cheap mask covering her face and a black hoodie thrown over a large, buttoned up men’s dress shirt and jeans. “Get  _ roasted _ .” The girl raised her hands, and all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get roasted? Get roasted. Fwoosh.


	11. exulansis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do I really have to create 29 more of these

_ exulansis: the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate _

Get roasted? Get  _ roasted? _ What the fuck kind of an introductory line was that? 

Zazzalil barely had time to process the insanity of the words that had just come out of her mouth before violet flames went spiraling out of her palms.

Snarl gasped and leapt back and Peacemaker rolled out of the way. Zazzalil couldn’t help but let a small smile trace her lips. Oh yes, this felt  _ nice _ .

She extinguished the flames for a brief moment (who was she kidding, for the dramatics), and could see Snarl processing what was going on. Zazzalil pulled her elbows back, and then jutted them forward, letting the fire blast from her hands once more. Zazzalil walked forward towards Snarl, and she could see the hesitance reflecting in his yellow eyes as she did. He backed up.

“ _ Leave _ ,” Zazzalil said, hoping anger and confidence shone through her voice. Snarl growled and leapt suddenly to the side. Zazzalil extinguished the purple flames for a moment before cocking her arms up to blast them again. But she didn’t. Snarl grabbed Peacemaker, holding her up by the throat in Zazzalil’s direct path of fire.

Zazzalil felt fear twist her stomach, she didn’t have enough control to be able to burn Snarl and not Peacemaker. It must have shown on her face because Snarl smirked and squeezed Peacemaker’s neck. She gasped, her hands coming up to claw at Snarl’s hands around her throat.

“Stop!” Zazzalil cried out, raising her hands.

“What are you going to do, girl,” Snarl crowed, “you can’t light me aflame without taking her with me.”

Zazzalil’s hands shook and a knot formed in her throat. She looked Peacemaker, gasping and squirming in Snarl’s grasp, hoping for any directions. Oh god, what was she  _ thinking?  _ She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t-

Peacemaker stilled. Zazzalil inhaled sharply. Had Snarl killed her? He seemed to be wondering the same thing as he cocked an eyebrow, looking at Peacemaker. And then he screamed. His free hand clasped over his forehead as his eyes threatened to roll back up into his head. 

A growl that sounded more like a roar ripped from his throat and he dropped Peacemaker to the grass, but without warning she swept his feet while he was recovering. Zazzalil watched as Snarl fell to the ground, and Peacemaker leaped over him. She grabbed his head in her hands, and Snarl screamed again.

Zazzalil recognized this as her opportunity to help and she ran to Peacemaker. “What do I do?” She asked over the sound of Snarl’s yelling. Suddenly, the beast-like man’s hands stretched up, reaching back to grab Peacemaker, and reacting on instinct, Zazzalil lit her hands on fire and clamped them on Snarl’s wrists, forcing them to the grass. His roaring scream intensified and Zazzalil grinned, looking up at Peacemaker.

But, to Zazzalil’s surprise, the Hero shouted, “you need to leave!”

“What? But I, I’m helping you!” Zazzalil said back.

“No, he’s dangerous, you need to-” Snarl’s burnt hands swung up and knocked Zazzalil in the head. She yelped and rolled backwards, sitting up and holding her head. The move seemed to be the momentary distraction that Snarl needed as he grabbed Peacemaker by the shoulders and threw her forward, gasping heavily and anger twisting his features as he stood. 

“We will continue this at another time, little one,” Snarl said, bowing his head. The skin on his wrists sweltered and bubbled, a gruesome sight, and Zazzalil watched with horror as Snarl turned around and took off into the darkness.

Zazzalil took a step forward, but Peacemaker raised an arm in front of her to stop her.

“What are we doing? He’s getting away!” Zazzalil cried.

“He submitted,” Peacemaker said, watching Snarl disappear into the darkness, “you don’t continue attacking after you’ve beat them.”

“Beat them?” Zazzalil argued, “ but he’s just going to come back after he’s healed. How is that beating them?”

“He’ll take a few days to heal and in that time he won’t be attacking anyone. It’s a win in my book,” Peacemaker insisted, annoyance written across her face

“But he’s-”

“Who  _ are _ you?”

Zazzalil blinked. She’d forgotten about that part. “My name? My name is… Fire…”

“Fire?”

“Bringer?”

“Firebringer.”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, Firebringer,” Peacemaker jested, a sneer curling her lip, “what the hell are you doing here, in  _ my _ fight?”

“Helping you?” Zazzalil said, though the response came out more like a question.

“No, you’re not helping me. This is my fight, and this is my town.”

Zazzalil blinked, “it’s a big town.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Zazzalil blinked once more, incredulity and shock across her face. She didn’t understand, “didn’t we just win?”

“No,” Peacemaker replied, and she opened her mouth, at a loss for words. She rubbed her temples. “I could have ended him with  _ this _ fight. But it has to be me I-” 

She cut herself off with a loud exhale. Zazzalil watched her in bewilderment. Peacemaker met Zazzalil’s eyes, and even through the white shields Zazzalil could see her anger.

“Listen. You obviously don’t understand Hero and Rogue etiquette. You obviously have had no training. You obviously are struggling to control your powers and you obviously aren’t a Hero. You shouldn’t be here.”

“It doesn’t matter that I’m not a Hero,” Zazzalil insisted, “I’m powerful and I want to help you.”

“You  _ can’t _ ,” Peacemaker yelled. Zazzalil flinched. The Hero noticed and ground her teeth, taking a deep breath. “I don’t have the time to train you or to hold your hand. I’m busy enough as it is and I, an actual  _ Hero _ , have a Rogue to defeat. Go home.”

And with that, Peacemaker powered on her boots and leapt away, leaving Zazzalil stranded in the middle of the park, completely perplexed.

“What the fuck.”

—

_ “Report?” _

_ “It went… well.” _

_ “Good.” _

_ “But…” _

_ “But?” _

_ “We’ve run into a situation.” _

_ “Oh great. What is it now?” _

_ “A new Hero. A powerful one too.” _

_ “We should have been prepared for that.” _

_ “You’re right. We should have been. That’s the good news. If we were unprepared for her then that means the Tribe was too. She isn’t sponsored.” _

_ “And that helps us how?” _

_ “No training, no money. Peacemaker will probably do the taking down for us.” _

_ “You’d better be right. The last time a Hero swooped unexpectedly in we lost one.” _

_ “It won’t happen again. That was a different situation. We’re prepared this time.” _

_ “You said we were prepared for War Master.” _

_ “It’s different.” _

_ “Don’t let me down.” _

_ “It won’t happen again.” _

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hup-


	12. sillage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s i l l a g e w i t h t w o l ‘ s

_ sillage: the scent that lingers in the air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been gone, the trace of someone’s perfume _

“Are you shitting me?”

Jemilla frowned from her place hanging upside down off her bed, scrolling through her phone. She had specifically made sure there would be video taken of the fight with Snarl (it was supposed to be her “coming out” to the public), and now this _ Firebringer _ character was in it to.

The local news crowed about these cool two new heroes and their epic fight against Snarl. Jemilla groaned and swung her legs over the edge, landing on one knee on the floor. She did _ not _ go through _ years _ of intense physical and mental training just to be shown up by some amateur with a few carnival tricks.

Not to mention, the smell of smoke still lingered in her nose. It wasn’t of burning flesh (though the thought of whatever that dumbass did to Snarl’s wrists made her stomach curl), it was sweeter than that. Almost nauseating, really. Firebringer smelled like sweet, lavender smoke and it stung the insides of Jemilla’s nose.

Jemilla chucked her phone on her bed. Tomorrow was Friday, so on Saturday she could wait for the initial shock of a new Hero to die down and could then go on a “press tour” throughout the town. 

Jemilla sighed and laid down on the floor, rubbing her eyes. This was hard. She felt salty tears spring to her eyes and she sat up, curling her knees into her chest and rubbing her eyes with her forearm. She didn’t want to cry. She was done with crying.

The tears fell anyway and Jemilla let out one loud “_ fuck _” before falling onto her back.

She knew she shouldn’t be this pissed. Firebringer wanted to help. 

“It’s not her place,” Jemilla said aloud, immediately feeling stupid for doing so. The guilt she felt did nothing to quell the pain and rage that burned in her chest. 

She looked back at the hoverboard tucked into the corner of her room. Molag was supposed to be the one to parade her throughout Hatchetfield once she’d retired. _ Retired _. 

“I can’t do this,” Jemilla said, breathlessly. She stood suddenly, snatching her mask and cape and storming down the stairs. She froze as she came into the hallway. There was someone on the porch. “Shit,” Jemilla whispered, pressing herself quietly against the door and squinting through the peephole.

“Shit!” Social services? She’d forgotten she’d have to deal with this shit. Molag had legally adopted Jemilla (with some pulled strings from the Tribe of course), and Jemilla had expected them to handle things accordingly. Maybe it was actually the Tribe coming to deal with her. In any case, Jemilla did not feel like climbing out the window and instead swung the door open without thinking, still fully decked out in her Peacemaker outfit.

To her surprise, the shockingly young girl on the porch (Jemilla guessed around 18 or 19), seemed unfazed by the dramatic entrance. She held an iPad tightly against her chest and was dressed in a black hoodie with the Tribe logo printed on the chest and faded jeans. 

“Jemilla Riddler?”

Jemilla looked at her with a pointed frown, “who?”

“Peacemaker. The Tribe sent me.”

Jemilla sighed and stepped to the side, holding the door open for her. With a small smile, the girl walked inside. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, “my name is Seedsinger, but you can call me Alice.”

“Seedsinger?” Jemilla asked in surprise, “as in Clivedale’s Hero? Of course they sent me fucking Clivedale’s Hero.”

Alice laughed, “you sound like my girlfriend when she found out they were sending me to Hatchetfield. The first thing that came out of Deb’s mouth was, ‘fucking what?’”

Jemilla smiled warily, “can you blame her? I didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Young?” Alice finished. Jemilla nodded and the Hero shrugged. “We aren’t really in different situations, you know. That’s why they sent me. I was raised by our past Hero, my dad, the original Seedsinger. We both had the ability to basically breath or spit or just generally emit different poisonous forms.”

“I know,” Jemilla replied, “isn’t it insanely rare for a parent to pass down an exact supergene?”

Alice hummed an approving response, “yeah. When my dad died I took on his name to honor him,” she tugged a hand through her long, wavy brown hair. “I’ve been doing this for three years, ever since I was 16.”

“Wow.”

“So not that different from you.” Jemilla looked at the ground, feeling sadness press against her chest. 

“Why are you here?”

Alice held up her iPad, showing video of her and Firebringer’s battle with Snarl. “It seems we have a lot to talk about. To start, I’m sorry about War Master.”

Jemilla awkwardly shuffled her feet, trying not to look at the video on the screen. “Thanks.”

“And second, want to tell me about Firebringer?”

Jemilla shrugged, “you know just as much about her as I do.”

Alice’s green gaze narrowed as she flipped the screen towards her, studying it carefully, “I see. And you’re not too happy about this?”

“Obviously.”

“We’ve had accounts of Heroes teaming up and taking duel responsibility of a town before.”

“I know,” said Jemilla, “but I don’t know her at all. She just popped up and started fighting, with no warning.”

“She hasn’t been taught in any of our ways. No Heroes Etiquette, she must have been flying under our radar for a long time.” Alice tilted her head as she watched the screen, “I wonder how she did it? The quality of this video is shit but she doesn’t look much older than either of us.”

“She isn’t.”

“Interesting. I feel bad. I don’t think she quite understands the problem.” Guilt stabbed at Jemilla, but she pushed it down.

“I think it’s just common courtesy to not butt in a battle between a Hero and their Rogue.”

“Not to the civilians,” Alice contradicted, “they just see two Heroes fighting against a big bad. They don’t understand the problem. They don’t understand how personal fights like these can get. You can’t blame her for that.”

Jemilla shot her a weary yet sharp glare that seemed to say ‘I can and I will.’ Alice shrugged.

“No matter how much the Tribe wants to make it so, Hatchetfield’s problems are not mine and are definitely not mine to solve. I’m afraid that’s on you. I’m here to deliver a message and to see what advice I can give you.”

“What’s the message?”

“The Tribe wants to make you officially Hatchetfield’s Hero, but Firebringer has created a new problem.” Jemilla looked at the clock. 3:00 AM. 

“Word travels fast. The local news station only released the video an hour ago.”

Another shrug from Alice, “you know the Tribe. They suggest that you fix this mess so they can sort Hatchetfield out. Ever since War Master decided to Go Home,” (the nontechnical term for a Hero deciding to stay in their hometown, especially a strong one), “Hatchetfield has been put on the map. It seems it’s a fan favorite. The world is watching you now.”

Jemilla sighed, “fucking great. And what’s the advice?”

A sympathetic look crossed Alice’s pretty features, “fixing this mess is easier said than done. Especially with a death so fresh in your mind. The town moves on quicker than you do, and it sucks ass. I know. You just need to keep on going. Find something or someone to become your reason for getting up in the morning. Deb became that for me. And I was luckier than you, I will admit. I had my mom, too. Sometimes she created more problems than solutions but I still had her. You aren’t that lucky.”

Jemilla felt the tears return and she cursed suddenly, taking Alice slightly aback. “Why won’t I stop fucking _ crying _,” she asked with a hard sniff as she quickly wiped away the angry tears.

A knowing look clouded Alice’s grey-green eyes. “It hurts. I know. It won’t stop hurting. It never really does. But, having other people dulls it.”

Jemilla looked at the floor, shaking her head. “Can I keep the house?”

“The Tribe will pull some strings.” Jemilla nodded. Alice put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Good luck, Jemilla.” And then she left.

Jemilla let out a shuddering breath. She looked in the hallway mirror, watching Peacemaker stare back at her. 

The sickeningly sweet smell of smoke still burned in her nose and Jemilla sighed breathily.

She needed to see Zazzalil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO TGWDML CHARACTERS WHERE DID YOU COME FROM


	13. nebulochaotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zazzalil is confused what else is new and a mood

_ nebulochaotic: a state of being hazy and confused _

Another thing had been added to the ever-growing list of “things Zazzalil could not even begin to understand.” And that thing was whatever the hell had just gone down earlier that night. The video was on social media, and Zazzalil knew that by the time everybody woke up in the morning Hatchetfield would go crazy. She groaned and slumped against the wall of the 7/11 she had stumbled into after the fight, slurping sadly on her blue raspberry slushie.

She looked down at her outfit, sighing. She had discarded the black zip-up sweatshirt, as the sleeves had pretty much been burnt beyond repair, but the shirt under had remained intact.

It had been her dad’s.

He’d ordered a “fire-resistant shirt” off of eBay the day Zazzalil had first combusted. He had enough of them to last through three life times, and after he’d died Zazz had no use for them. Until now, at least. 

She groaned and rubbed her temples with her free hand. She smelled like fire. She felt like shit. And she still had school tomorrow. The events of the night replayed in her head on loop and Zazzalil felt that the amount of shit that had happened to her in the past few days was becoming overwhelming.

The first step was to show up with good timing and a smart line. The timing had been excellent, the line not so much. Then, Zazzalil would do something cool with her fire and not accidentally light the entirety of her body aflame. Check; everything ran smoothly there. And then Snarl would back off and Peacemaker would thank her and they’d have a hot makeout session. Snarl had backed off, that much had gone according to plan. And then she’d gotten yelled at by Peacemaker and Zazzalil could not for the life of her understand why.

Hadn’t she helped? Hadn’t she saved Peacemaker’s life? How could Peacemaker have been so sweet and kind one moment and then so defensive and rude the next (Zazzalil knew that this wasn’t exactly how it had gone, but it still felt like a betrayal)?

She took a long sip of her slushie, completely lost in thought. 

This was probably why she was so startled when the damn Hero herself came swinging down from the gas station overhang and landing directly in front of her.

Zazzalil barely had time to let out a shocked yelp before Peacemaker had grabbed her by the waist, pulled her in close to her, and then snapped the weird grappling hook that sent them careening through the air. 

Staccato bursts of power blasted from Peacemakers humming boots and kept them soaring through the air whenever they got close to the ground, and if Zazzalil wasn’t so terrified she’d be impressed by the way Peacemaker held Zazz with one hand and held on to the grappling hook with the other (upon further and later inspection Zazzalil would realize that the nifty device opened up and became like a glove around Peacemaker’s hand to allow her to hang on, but it was impressive nonetheless).

Zazzalil’s breath came out in gasping gulps and she clung tightly to Peacemaker, burying her face into the Heroe’s shoulder and squeezing her eyes tightly shut until she felt them come to a stop. 

Rooftop. Garden. Staircase shed close to the edge. They were on Beanie’s rooftop.

Zazzalil climbed off of Peacemaker and tried to steady her shaky hands as the Hero unclasped the grappling hook from her hand and attached it to her pant leg.

Zazz looked at her with wide eyes. “Uh. Hello-” 

The question-sounding greeting was quickly cut off by Peacemaker’s lips crashing into Zazzalil’s, and the girl blinked in surprise, not quite registering what was going on.

The events that had recently transpired were suddenly erased from Zazzalil’s mind and the only thing she could concentrate on were those damned lips. Zazz’s eyes closed and she duly noted that her hands had found Peacemaker’s hair, her fingers tangling in her dark curls. The Hero had one hand tugging on the back of Zazzalil’s neck and the other had found the girl’s waist and was locking the smaller of the two tightly against her body.

They broke apart, both gasping for air. Peacemaker smirked at the flush on Zazzalil’s face as she ran her thumb along the smaller girl’s jawline and pushed her chin up to meet her shielded eyes.

“What are you doing out so late?” Peacemaker asked, though from the low, rumbling tone of her voice Zazzalil could tell the question was not one of immediate concern to the Hero. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Zazzalil responded, still out of breath and hoping that Peacemaker wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. “And you made me drop my slushie.”

“Then I’ll just have to find a way to repay you, won’t I?” A chill crept down Zazzalil’s spine, and, in that moment, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t have done to get a look at Peacemaker’s eyes. Zazz was sure that her own were filled with hot passion, and she briefly wondered if the Hero could see confliction that brewed beneath them.

The storm of conflicting emotions raged viciously inside Zazzalil, but now was not the time to sort through those. As Peacemaker leaned forward, however, and Zazzalil was suddenly met with the smell of smoke ( _ her _ smoke), a surge of anger lifted through the storm and she pulled back.

“Something wrong?” Peacemaker asked. Zazzalil couldn’t tell from her tone if she was confused or impatient or concerned or if there was nothing but passion (if only she could get a look at those eyes). 

But in her, there was anger. What to do with  _ this _ . She was sure there were many options and routes she could go, but that intense kiss from Peacemaker had scrambled her brain and was now the only thing her stupid ass could focus on. She was sure that the Hero was pissed from the events from that night and that this was the way in which she had decided to release her feelings.

Zazzalil knew it wasn’t the same situation on her end as she was undoubtedly the one Peacemaker was pissed at in the first place, but a release of feelings was a release of feelings and  _ god _ was this girl sexy.

To make up for the hole of silence that Zazzalil had just created, she inserted the first question that came to mind. “So this Firebringer girl. Fun shit, huh?”

Whoop. Wrong question. A sneer curled Peacemaker’s lips, showing her teeth, and she began to brusquely walk backwards, half-pushing, half-guiding Zazzalil backwards. The girl’s eyes widened as she staggered back, and then Peacemaker’s arm struck forward and the other grabbed Zazzalil around the waist to stop her from backing roughly into the wall. Wall?

Oh shit. Wall.

The arm pinning and leaning against the wall remained as Peacemaker’s head bowed forward. Zazzalil found herself completely pressed against the wall. Oh goodness.

“Are you trying to test me today, Zazzalil?” The tone of that voice wasn’t so hard to recognize. If Zazzalil hadn’t found herself so turned on she probably would have been terrified. That voice meant danger. A mischievous smile curled Zazz’s lips. Danger, indeed.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she said airily. “Just merely remarking upon the fact that this Firebringer girl seems like one hot chick.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Peacemaker seethed, and much to her dismay, Zazzalil snickered. 

“A little hotheaded tonight, aren’t we?”

That one seemed to do it for Peacemaker. Her lips crashed into Zazzalil’s, and the smaller girl felt her breath catch in her throat as she pushed forward and intensified the kiss. Peacemaker leaned back slightly, then returned the rock forward and Zazzalil once again found herself completely pressed against the wall. Ohh, fuck. 

The moment Peacemaker’s lips left Zazzalil’s, the smaller of the two had to bite back a needy groan. The effort wasn’t too difficult, however, as Peacemaker’s mouth returned once again, this time dragging along Zazzalil’s neck.

She bit her lip and clenched her jaw and Peacemaker smirked against Zazz’s skin. 

“You’re in a mood today,” she murmured. Zazzalil tried to control her shaky voice.

“ _ You’re  _ the one that’s become Miss Possessive,” she retorted, earning herself a light nip to the earlobe. Ohh,  _ fuck _ .

“I didn’t say I wasn’t in a mood, too,” the Hero replied, pulling her lips from Zazzalil’s neck. Zazzalil moaned, actually fucking  _ moaned _ , and the grin on Peacemaker’s face would have been obnoxious if there hadn’t been dazed stars floating in her vision.

The Hero stared at Zazzalil with a small smile, her thumb rubbing light circles on the girl’s cheek.

Zazzalil frowned at the look crossing Peacemaker’s masked face. She wanted to see the Hero’s eyes. Wanted to see  _ her _ . They stared at each other, Zazzalil meeting the white shields with frank intensity, and found her fingers untangling themselves from Peacemaker’s hair and dragging lightly along her skin. Zazzalil traced the edges of the mask, and the Hero’s smirk faded.

“I want to see your eyes,” she whispered, and Peacemaker’s frown deepened. She caught Zazzalil’s wrists and pulled them lightly down.

“I’m sorry, Zazzalil.” The smaller girl looked at her shoes, flushing red. 

“Sorry, I-” she was cut off when Peacemaker pressed a light kiss to her lips. It was gentle, and sweet.

“I made a mistake,” the Hero whispered. Zazzalil knew what was coming. “I was angry.”

“I know. It’s okay. I was angry, too.” Peacemaker tilted her head.

“What were you angry about?” Shit.

“It’s nothing,” quickly, what non-superhero related event was she mad about? “Just a cute popular girl that goes to my school.”

Peacemaker’s grin widened, “tell me all about her.”

Zazzalil eyed the Hero suspiciously, “what happened to angry possessive Peacemaker?”

“My mood’s over. Spill.”

Zazz sighed and rolled her eyes, letting her head fall back against the wall. “Well she’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. But she’s the Class President and I’m the resident emo kid.” Peacemaker’s smile widened. Damn, she must be eating this up. “And she’s been trying to get close to me because I accidentally walked in on her having a mental breakdown in the bathroom, but it was weird because she told me she didn’t really care that it had happened and I was about to have a mental breakdown myself, it was weird. But, uh. She’s cute and mysterious. Kind of like you.”

She trailed off, clearing her throat and ignoring the burn of her cheeks.

Peacemaker was still grinning as she kissed the top of Zazzalil’s head. “She’d be lucky to have you. Come on, let me take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nebulochaotic might be one of my favorite words. Thanks Pinterest.


	14. sprezzatura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemilla being helpless. Also a mood. Also not new.

_ sprezzatura: the ability to make one's actions seem effortless, to disguise one’s true desire, feeling, or meaning, studied carelessness _

Cute and mysterious. 

Jemilla grinned as she leaned against Ducker’s arm. 

“Do you think I’m cute and mysterious?” She asked him. They were in the library for their first free, and Ducker looked up from his Theology notes.

“What? Maybe? I don’t know. I think you’re tired and deranged.” That may have been true, Jemilla hadn’t gotten any sleep that night. She found no point after returning from walking Zazzalil home and seeing that it was 4:15 in the morning.

To be completely fair, she wasn’t entirely sure what had come over her. She was pissed about Firebringer, then and pissed and sad because of the Clivesdale Hero, and it all soft boiled down into a need for someone. That someone being Zazzalil.

Jemilla felt her eyes slowly beginning to close, the thought of Zazzalil’s wide, honey brown eyes brimming with excitement and nervousness as she was pushed against a wall evading Jemilla’s mind. The possessiveness: also unexpected but not entirely unwarranted. A small sigh streamed from Jemilla’s nose, earning her a sharp elbow to the ribs from Ducker.

“Don’t fall asleep, you’ve still got 7 periods to go.”

Jemilla groaned and sat up, staring at the unfinished calculus homework on the table.

“It’s unlike you to not finish your homework,” Ducker said quietly, looking up from his notes, “something up?”

Jemilla frowned, but then shrugged. “No. I just have a lot on my mind.” Ducker nodded, but didn’t look entirely convinced. 

“Have you been going to the studio lately?” Jemilla scratched the back of her neck. She didn’t let her friends in on the Hero aspect of her life (none of them knew about her powers, none of them knew about Peacemaker, none of them knew about Molag), but she let them in on the little, seemingly unrelated parts. One of which being Jemilla’s love for Kenpo, a style of karate that she’d been training in for close to 11 years.

Jemilla stretched, “not as much lately,” was her only reply. This wasn’t true, by “not as much lately” Jemilla meant not at all. She had her second degree black belt and had gotten it a few months ago, but hadn’t been back in a while. This was mainly due to the fact that she got a lot of training in with Molag, and also due to the fact that now Molag was not here and Jemilla was scrambling to fill the hole that was created in her absence.

Ducker seemed to sense her hesitance and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. Jemilla sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Maybe you should get a few minutes of sleep in.”

As much as she wanted to, Jemilla knew it would only have negative consequences and she sat up and faced her dreaded homework once more. “No. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Ducker asked. Jemilla didn’t answer. He sighed. “Tell me about Zazzalil.”

“What about her?”

“Is she just a new project?” Jemilla stiffened. Ducker noticed and hurried to correct himself. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean why have you taken such an interest in her?”

“She’s cool.”

“She’s cool?”

“And cute.”

“ _ There _ we go.”

“Shut up,” Jemilla said with a light laugh as she hit Ducker in the shoulder. He smiled and shrugged. 

“She seems like she’ll fit in with the rest of us.”

“How does everybody like her and Keeri? I forgot to ask.”

Ducker shrugged, “S.B. is pretty happy with the decision, I think. He seems to like Zazzalil. Makes sense, I suppose. I’m glad to have someone I know in US History. I think we all are pretty satisfied.” Jemilla let out a small sigh of relief. “Have you talked to Schwoopsie about Zazzalil at all?”

Jemilla rolled her eyes, “we dated in 8th grade.” 

“And you make out whenever you both get drunk.”

“That’s different,” Jemilla insisted with a small glare Ducker’s way.

“Is it?”

“You make out with S.B. when  _ you _ get drunk,” she bit back.

“Fair.” Jemilla sighed, staring at her calculus homework. Ducker tilted his head to the side, eyeing her carefully. “You really like her, don’t you?”

Jemilla gulped and shrugged, “no, but I wouldn’t mind it if I did.”

Ducker smiled and nudged her with his shoulder, “that’s cheesy.” She snorted.

“You’re an asshole. Let me do my calculus homework.” The obnoxious smile didn’t fade from Ducker’s face, and as Jemilla picked up her pencil and began to scribble in some equations, she felt a small grin curl her lips. Those honey brown eyes. 

She was hopeless.

Jemilla decided to skip Film Analysis II again, promising Mr. Ted that she’d watch  _ The Graduate _ on her own time and start showing up when they started going into the Analysis, and upon creeping into the art room with a small, apologetic smile towards the teacher, she was overjoyed to see Emberly and Grant sitting across from Zazzalil. 

Emberly and Grant were talking and Zazzalil seemed completely zoned out of the conversation and was furiously scribbling in her notebook. Jemilla smiled and sat herself next to Zazzalil, who jolted uptight and nearly fell out of her chair when she did.

“You scared me!” Zazzalil said, her eyes wide when they met Jemilla’s.

She laughed, “sorry. You scare easy.”

“I do not!” She huffed indignantly. Jemilla snorted and rolled her eyes, grinning.

“Well you’re not really helping your point.” Zazzalil broke out into laughter that Jemilla soon followed, leaning into the smaller girl as she laughed (an action that Zazzalil copied).

They realized at the same time how close they’d gotten, and separated quickly, both biting down blushes. Emberly and Grant, who had been watching the conversation, exchanged a knowing glance.

Jemilla cleared her throat, “right. Have you been working on your drawing of m- Peacemaker?” 

Zazzalil’s blush didn’t fade and a small grin curled her lips. “That was just a sketch. I’ve been doing mostly sketches recently to fill up my sketchbook before I have to turn it in for a grade.”

“You need a grade for these? Wow. That’s intimidating.”

“It’s not easy,” Grant said with a smile, “in most people’s you can just see the quality fade out into scribbles of eyes and stick figures after the first twenty pages.”

Emberly and Zazzalil nodded knowingly as Jemilla laughed. 

“Jemilla, have you been going to karate lately?” Emberly asked, looping her arm through Grant’s and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Why is everyone so focused on my karate right now,” Jemilla mumbled. “I haven’t been to a class in a while.”

“You take karate?” Zazzalil asked in surprise.

“Kenpo.”

“Wow,” she said, then mumbling under her breath, “that’s kinda hot.” Jemilla raised an eyebrow and smiled but didn’t make any move to acknowledge that she’d heard. “You should teach me.”

Jemilla tilted her head, “really?”

“Yeah,” she said with an excited grin, “I should probably learn now that I’m,” then she cut herself off suddenly, blinking in surprise. “A victim of a mugging. A muggee. I should… learn.”

Jemilla shrugged, “that’s a good point. Everybody should know. I taught everybody else ground fighting when I learned.” She paused, eyeing Zazzalil. Then she blinked, a sudden realization striking her. An opportunity, it seemed, had opened up. “Why don’t you come over to my place later? My mom’s out of town for the week.”

Zazzalil smiled, then paused. Realization sank in and, ah yes, there were the bright red cheeks. That train was never late.

“I- yeah. Yes. Yeah. I would lo- I would like that. That’d be… cool.” She cleared her throat and subconsciously burrowed herself deeper into her hoodie. Jemilla smiled. It was a cute habit.

“Alright, sweet. Bring work out clothes. I’ll text you my- oh wait. I don’t have your phone number, do I.” Haha, smooth. Jemilla brought you phone out, unlocking it and opening up the messenger app. “Here.”

Zazzalil smirked as she quickly typed her number into the space and then handed Jemilla’s phone back. “Alright then, it's a date. I’ll text you,” the taller girl said, winking at Zazzalil before standing up. “I’ve got to return to Film Analysis before Mr. Ted starts throwing out zeroes, I’ll see you.”

“That was smooth as fuck,” she heard Emberly comment quietly as she turned around. She left before anybody could see the giant smile that had stretched across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date? Date. I promise the karate is not a self insert. I was going to like learn a whole new style from YouTube for Jemilla because her power is mental and she needs a physical form of defense but then I realized that there’s no point in learning a whole new style when I already know one. So-


	15. nepenthe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date? Date... date!

_ nepenthe: something that makes you forget grief or suffering _

When she got home from school, Zazzalil was so excited that she accidentally lit her pre-calc notes on fire. She had bursted out the school door without putting the papers in her backpack and had begun sprinting through the street while fumbling with her phone to call Keeri.

The moment she’d pressed the call button and yelled out “ _ I have a date with Jemilla! _ ”, the Class President herself had texted Zazzalil with a time and a smiley face emoji. 

And then the papers in her hand had promptly burst into flame. 

Zazzalil now stared sadly at her notes at the sidewalk as the violet flames slowly ate them. She sighed. One date with Jemilla for one pile of pre-calc ashes. A fair trade it seemed.

She picked herself up and ran the rest of the way to the Home, yelling a loud hello throughout the house the moment she entered.

She was trying to sprint to her room before J.F. or Sherrezade could ask why she smelled like smoke. Unfortunately, she was not so lucky in trying to avoid S.B., who stopped her as she reached the top of the stairs.

“So,” said the shaggy-haired blond, “I heard you’ve got a date.”

Zazzalil picked nervously at her nails in her large hoodie sleeves. “What’s it to you?”

S.B. smiled and shrugged, raising his hands in defense, “just confirming. Let’s talk about Jemilla.”

Zazzalil’s eyes narrowed, “why? Is there something I should know?”

“Well for starters, Jemilla is… a little controlling,” when Zazzalil tilted her head, S.B. continued quickly, “but in a good way. Our friend group is in need of a leader and Jemilla fills the role well. I just wanted to let you know.”

Zazzalil nodded, “I am also in need of a more dominant presence in my life.” S.B. raised an eyebrow and smirked, causing Zazzalil to blush furiously, “not like that, you asshole.”

He laughed and shook his head, “I’m messing with you, Zazz. She’s kind and sensitive and smart. You’ll have a good time.” Zazzalil smiled warmly.

“Thanks, S.B.”

She made to move past him, but he shot his arm out unexpectedly to stop her. “There’s one more thing.” Zazzalil raised an eyebrow. “Jemilla’s mom is never really around, we’ve met her twice and that was as validation that she actually existed. Her dad wasn’t around. She’s insanely smart but doesn’t get a lot of sleep and sometimes she’ll disappear for a few days on end. We don’t question it because she gets weird when we do. Just trust her. Okay?”

She didn’t know why, but a small shiver ran down Zazzalil’s spine. 

“O-Okay. Thanks, S.B.”

He released her arm, and the intense look in his eyes was replaced by a warm smile. “No problem. Have fun tonight, but not  _ too _ much fun.”

“Will do,” Zazzalil said, rolling her eyes, “oh, and don’t tell Sherrezade or Ja’Far for me, will ya?”

S.B. froze, turning around slowly. Zazzalil felt dread sink in her stomach at the apologetic grin on his face. “Might be a little too late for that. Sorry. Bye!”

He ran down the stairs before Zazzalil could yell at him. She groaned. Her best bet was to pack and leave now before Sherrezade cornered her. She changed into sweatpants and a tank top (of course, with her favorite hoodie over that), and grabbed her sneakers before drifting through a thick cloud of her perfume to try and cover up the ashy smell. It didn’t work.

“Why do you smell like vanilla and smoke?”

Zazzalil froze the moment she had gotten down the stairs, looking to the side only to see Sherrezade leaning against the door with one eyebrow raised.

“Is it that noticeable?” She asked with a defeated sigh. “I got caught behind a crowd of smokers for a whole block.”

“What do you think, Jaban? Plausible?” Sherrezade asked her husband. Jaban Far, or J.F. or Ja’Far for short, looked up from his book, pushing his slipping reading glasses up his nose.

“Oh yes, sweetheart. Quite plausible. You know our darling Zazzalil would never lie to us.” Sherrezade smirked and turned to Zazzalil, whose face was red and eyes downturned in guilt. 

The couple hadn’t had children themselves as far as Zazzalil knew, but didn’t mind adopting the half-dozen children they took care of until they were sent off to college. Sherrezade, known for stern kindness and storytelling skills, balanced out Ja’Far, who acted oblivious to what was going on amongst the children but always managed to give impossibly helpful advice at the right time.

“I…” she sighed lightly and shrugged, “I have a date with the Class President and got so excited on my way back from school that the pre-calc notes I was holding burst aflame because I can’t control the fire powers I’ve kept hidden since I was 4.”

“Fine,” Sherrezade said with a small shrug, “don’t tell us. The smokers will do.” Zazzalil frowned but shrugged her bag further onto her shoulder. Sherrezade eyed the young girl’s outfit, “though I’m intrigued as to what you’re doing for this date.”

Zazzalil groaned but didn’t stifle the smile that curled her lips. She stuffed her feet into her sneakers and grabbed the door handle. Sherrezade shifted from her place leaning against the door. “I’m learning karate,” the young girl explained.

“Ooh,” Sherrezade said with a smile that only made Zazzalil’s widen.

“Zazzalil,” Ja’Far’s voice drifted from his place in the living room. “Before you go, there’s a water bottle in the fridge for you.” 

Zazzalil nodded, quickly sprinting to the kitchen and grabbing the cold bottle before she threw the door open. “I’m going to be late. See ya! Bye!”

And with that, she was taking off through the streets. Zazzalil had allowance for public transportation, but had recently spent it all to stock up on crappy Tribe masks and varying sizes of black hoodies at Wal-Mart and was forced to settle on walking everywhere. It was fine, Zazzalil didn’t mind and if she really needed to she would cup a small flame in her hands to warm herself up.

Mid-April did not treat Hatchetfield kindly, and while most people expected hazy rains and mildly chilly weather, they were met with dry air and biting cold. Zazzalil was surprised she couldn’t see her breath. She followed the route her phone and it took her to an older, but cute stand-alone house that sat alone just outside the exit of a closed off neighborhood. 

Zazzalil checked the address on her phone once more before hesitantly stepping up to the porch and lightly knocking on the door. She only then realized how nervous she was. Zazzalil felt a little light headed and her hands shook in her pockets. 

What the hell did she think she was doing? 

She had only known this girl for, what, two days? Not even? Why had Jemilla asked Zazzalil out anyway? She felt dread wash over her body like ice water. This must be a joke. That was the only explanation. This was Jemilla making sure that word wouldn’t spread about the bathroom incident. Zazzalil was just the weird emo kid with one friend and a hoodie and a knack for landing herself in sticky situations and she always smelled like a bonfire.

Not to mention this thing with Peacemaker. It was cheating right? Who was she even cheating on? The hot Hero or the kind Class President? She wasn’t even dating either of them. Then why did she feel so guilty?

Zazzalil took a small step back.

She didn’t belong here. Her hands began to shake harder and a tight knot formed in her throat. She took another step back.

She had to leave. Maybe the guilt was because she was lying to everyone. Zazzalil stepped back again. Everyone. But she was frightened, terrified even.

Zazzalil the freak.

Zazzalil the pyromaniac.

Zazzalil the fire bringer.

Firebringer.

She shuffled back further. The closed, black door suddenly seemed looming. Were those footsteps coming from inside the house? Why did she suddenly feel so warm?

Zazzalil took a large step back, fear stretching through her body in cold, stinging waves and instinctively igniting the flame inside of her. The door opened, and a hand suddenly flashed out and grabbed Zazzalil by the sweater. She almost screamed, but the sight of a familiar pair of gentle, brown eyes stole the breath from her lungs.

Jemilla wrenched Zazzalil forward, and the smaller girl stumbled into her arms. When Zazzalil, taking huge, gulping breaths, looked up at Jemilla, the Class President simply stated, “you were about to fall off the porch.”

Zazzalil looked behind her, and, sure enough, she had completely forgotten about the few steps leading up to the porch. Well now she just felt stupid.

She must have muttered this out loud, because Jemilla laughed.

It was a nice laugh. A kind laugh.

Zazzalil looked back at Jemilla and met her eyes once more. Oh right. That was it.

The genuineness in those eyes leveled her. Her hands stopped shaking.

“Hi, J-Mills,” Zazzalil said, wishing her voice was louder and more confident then she felt it was. Jemilla smiled and let go of Zazzalil, much to her chagrin.

“Hey, Zazzalil.”

God, why could she not break away from those eyes. Was it weird yet? It must have been weird. But it felt so nice. So warm. The need for her flame died out, slowly taking the fire with it.

“Come on in,” Jemilla eventually said after a few, slow, moments, stepping back and holding open the door for Zazzalil. She cleared her throat and nodded, stepping inside the house. Jemilla walked in behind her. 

It was a nice house, Zazzalil supposed. Eerily empty, though. Not even any pictures on the wall, just a mirror hanging in the entrance hall. It felt impossibly different from the crowded, high-energy vibe of Zazzalil’s own home. She was struck with the sudden realization that they were alone in the house, and she bit back the blush that threatened to rise to her skin.

“Your house… smells nice.”

Fuck a duck. Of all the things to say-

Jemilla chuckled, and Zazzalil wondered if it was even possible for the Class President to laugh in a demeaning way. “Thanks. Sorry it’s kind of empty, my mom di-  _ doesn’t _ like cluster.”

“Understandable,” Zazzalil replied, wishing the valid reason didn’t have such a negative effect on her. Her whole life was pretty much one giant clusterfuck.

“You can keep your shoes on, we’ll probably just be heading down to the basement. Unless you have something else in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohp-


	16. cynosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y’all will enjoy this

_ cynosure: something that is attractive because it is brilliant _

Zazzalil stopped in her tracks and plunged immediately into buffer mode, barely managing to let out one, stuttered, “w… what?”

Jemilla turned around and faced Zazzalil, one eyebrow raised and the lightheartedly sardonic smirk on her face barely concealed. “You know, like a movie or food before we get started.”

“What? Oh right. I’m fine, really. I’ve got… water.” She held up her water to prove just this.

Jemilla smirked, “I can see that. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten since lunch, so I’ll be ordering pizza anyway. Toppings?”

Zazzalil smiled shyly, scratching the back of her neck, “I’ll eat whatever you like.”

“I insist,” Jemilla said dramatically, “what toppings?”

The smaller girl looked at the ceiling, one eyebrow raised. “Whenever we get pizza at the Home, we usually just get large amounts of half-cheese, half-pepperoni.”

“And which do you usually have?”

Zazzalil laughed, “it's such a wild free-for-all when we order pizza that I’m usually just grabbing what I can. When we order out there’s always some sort of a system, but J.F. and Sherrezade don’t even bother when it comes to pizza.” Jemilla laughed too, running her hand through her curls and ignoring the way Zazzalil bit her lip as she did.

“You win, I’ll get half-and-half.” They grinned at each other for a moment before Jemilla turned to her phone and began punching in the number.

Zazzalil watched Jemilla intently with a hazy smile on her face, lost in thought. The taller girl turned away, not wanting to embarrass Zazz by catching her staring as she began speaking to the pizza guy.

She didn’t want to admit it, but her heart pounded in her chest. She hid it better than Zazz, disguising her nervousness for a sort of cockiness, and Jemilla was glad for the ability to turn Zazzalil into a hot pile of incapable mush and was even more glad that she acted the same way around Peacemaker. It showed a consistency of character.

The Peacemaker situation was one that Jemilla admitted she should be pondering upon more, but that was too much to unpack and, for the moment, she just wanted to teach this extremely cute girl how to kick ass and eat some pizza.

She hung up the phone, smiling at Zazzalil. Zazz snapped to attention, ducking her head shyly to hide her blush as Jemilla motioned to the basement door.

“Shall we?”

Zazzalil nodded, and smiled at Jemilla as she opened it for her. The basement, Jemilla was painstakingly aware about, was almost as empty as the rest of the house, occupied only by a worn punching bag on a stand and some cardboard boxes filled with god knows what. Zazzalil didn’t seem to mind. She seemed caught up in her mind, probably trying to figure out how the date (a  _ date _ , oh hell) would go.

Jemilla had taught most of the basics and ground fighting to all of her friends, though something told her it would be a little different this time around. The only thing Jemilla could reasonably think to do was to make the night as dramatic as possible and do her best to try and melt Zazzalil into the blushing disaster she had come to expect and love.

The first step to achieving this was circling, something Jemilla did out of nervous habit anyway but enjoyed the extra-ness of. Zazzalil watched her curiously as she slowly paced around her.

“The basics of my style are basically that you strike and get out of there as fast as you can.”

“Fair.”

“The physics of Kenpo itself are axis rotation, gravitational marriage, and linear motion. For example.”

Jemilla stopped, and raised one balled fist. Zazzalil’s eyes widened as she realized what was happening, and as Jemilla stepped through with a straight punch, she twisted her body and stepped out of the way, letting the tall girl fly past.

“Jeezus,” Zazzalil said breathlessly, staring at Jemilla. She snickered.

“That was good! You just demonstrated 2 out of the 3 principles.”

“You tried to punch me.”

“I knew what I was doing. Do you know what you did?”

“I avoided getting punched.”

Jemilla laughed, returning to her , “yes, by turning your center line out of the way of my fist, axis rotation, and then by stepping off the line. Linear motion.”

Zazzalil recovered and crossed her arms over her chest, smirking. “That’s a lot of fancy terms you’re throwing out there, J-Mills.”

“Then allow me to explain.” She stepped in quickly, and Zazzalil, much to her surprise, didn’t budge, instead holding her ground and tilting her chin up to meet Jemilla’s gaze with a narrowed stare of her own.

“Your center line is pretty self explanatory.” She rested the pad of her finger on Zazzalil’s forehead, lightly dragging it down. Down her forehead, over her nose, catching slightly on her bottom lip and then continuing down off her chin (Zazzalil’s eyes widened considerably but she refused to back down). Jemilla broke from Zazzalil’s skin when her finger trailed lightly down to her collarbone, signaling the rest of the center line in the air.

“Your center line is vital. If you leave it open, you’re pretty much fucked.”

“Mhm,” Zazzalil hummed, trying to feign coolness but unable to hide the small catch in her throat.

Jemilla’s smirk widened and she stepped back. “Now. Usually it’s natural reaction to move out of the way, but the real problem comes after that.” She stepped back dramatically, and Zazzalil smiled, prepared this time. She twisted and sidestepped when Jemilla swung the punch forward, but to her surprise, the taller girl immediately slipped into a different position that left Zazzalil wide open. Jemilla’s hand shot forward, and Zazzalil flinched, only to realize that she had grabbed the back of her neck and tugged her forward. 

Once again, Jemilla found herself up close to Zazzalil. The smaller girl gulped hard, the facade threatening to crumble right there, but to Jemilla’s amusement and pleasant surprise she stayed strong. 

_ Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we? _

She stepped back. “You’ve got a knack for this.”

“I’m a fast learner.” Quick quips, too. Where had this sudden burst of confidence come from?

“When you block you want to drive the blade of your forearm through them, not to them. It goes right past your face, and then pretty much to your shoulder.” She demonstrated. Zazzalil copied. “Very nice.” 

A bright smile lit Zazzalil’s face, and Jemilla suddenly found herself in a flipped position with her trying to hold back the warm burn of her cheeks.

“This took me years and years to master, so if you don’t get it on the first try don’t worry about it,” Jemilla explained carefully. She threw a slow roundhouse punch, and Zazzalil responded in kind with a stabbing inward block. Jemilla nodded, corrected it lightly, and then repeated the action with the other side.

They went like that for what felt like either a few minutes or a few hours (though was probably the former considering the pizza hadn’t arrived), falling into a steady rhythm. Jemilla would teach, Zazzalil would pick it up, Jemilla would assure that it was fine if she didn’t get it first try, usually Zazzalil would get it first try anyway.

“It seems like you’re a natural at this,” Jemilla commented at one point.

Zazzalil teased, “is that a bit of saltiness I hear?” Jemilla rolled her eyes but grinned.

“It took me years to be able to run through what I’m running with you right now,” she said cooly, “you’ve got a gift.”

Zazzalil smirked, “maybe I should be Class President.”

Jemilla struck a hand to her chest, gasping. “Two candidates, opposing, going through weeks of campaigning and spreading rumors and throwing nasty comments at one another, and it turns out that they’ve been together this whole time? Scandalous, Zazzalil. Truly.” 

They both broke out into a fit of laughter. “It would be interesting though, you have to admit.”

Jemilla snickered, “interesting isn’t exactly the word I’d use, but you’re not wrong.”

“Then what word would you use, because in all honesty, I would find it quite sexy.” Jemilla’s chest tightened and she prayed that the burn of her cheeks wasn’t signifying a blush (but from the smirk on Zazzalil’s lips she figured it was). 

Jemilla’s eyes narrowed and her head cocked slightly to the side. She eyed Zazzalil with an amused sort of suspicion, as if trying to figure her out. 

“Let’s move on to ground fighting.”

“Sure. Let’s.”

“Alright then,” she motioned to the carpeted part of the floor, “lay down.”

Zazzalil visually buffered, but then cleared her throat and sat on the floor, Jemilla soon joining her.

“The concepts are actually pretty simple. Here, let me show you.” Jemilla slid forward, laying on her back. “Sit on my stomach?”

The nervousness written on Zazzalil’s face was clear, but she nodded and crawled over to the taller girl, swinging one leg over and sitting on her stomach. Jemilla smiled reassuringly, “alright, good, grab my wrists and pin me.”

“What.”

Jemilla snickered, “it’s standard for the technique, trust me.”

She nodded once more, “I trust you.” And with that, Zazzalil leaned over Jemilla, lightly pinning her wrists down, her face bright red. “Like thi-”

Zazzalil was promptly launched through the air and toppled over onto the floor before she could get another word out. Dazed, she sat up, staring at the floor in shock only to look up and see that Jemilla had already scrambled to her feet and was holding her hand out for Zazzalil.

“Holy shit,” the smaller girl said breathlessly. Jemilla grinned.

“I wasn’t expecting that to work as well as it did. Sorry. You are just very tiny.”

Zazzalil smirked as she took Jemilla’s hand and hoisted herself up. “All the better for you to launch me with, my dear.” They laughed, before Jemilla then explained to Zazzalil that it was her turn and they returned to the floor.

“Here, let me explain what I did. Get back on top of me.” Less nervous, Zazzalil sat on Jemilla’s stomach. “First you plant your feet, try and tuck your knees as close to yourself as possible. Turn your head to the side so they don’t land on your face and break your nose, and then thrust your hips up as fast as you can and send them flying. And if they don’t go flying and just fall forward, then you roll your body to the side to push them off.”

“And this works on non-tiny people too?”

“It’s just physics, babe. You have the element of surprise on your side. If you could tell me who would reasonably expect a small, petite high school girl to send them flying, then color me impressed.” Zazzalil herself was colored a darker shade of red the moment the word “babe” left Jemilla’s lips, and she cleared her throat and grinned.

“Fair.”

“You try now.”

“Right,” Zazzalil said, making to get off of Jemilla. She leaned to the side, but to her surprise, the taller girl shifted her momentum to roll them both over so that Zazzalil lay shocked under her. “Whoa.”

“You pick things up when you practice this often enough,” Jemilla explained. 

“Does that move work on all the girls?”

“Only the wild ones.” She said with a smirk, and Zazzalil rolled her eyes but grinned. Jemilla leaned over and pressed her wrists into the ground. “When you’re ready.”

She felt Zazzalil’s legs rise and tuck close to her body. She nodded, and Zazzalil turned her head to the side, and, quite suddenly, her hips thrusted upward. Jemilla let out an “oof” and she was jerked forward, though wasn’t completely off. Zazzalil grunted as she twisted her body to the side and pushed Jemilla off completely, scrambling to her feet the moment she did.

“Did I do it?”

Jemilla stared with wide eyes at Zazzalil, shock written across her face.

“How did you do that on the first try and why are you so strong? Are you just compacted muscle? I don’t understand.”

Zazz laughed and held her hand out for Jemilla. “It’s a secret.” She grinned and took it, hoisting herself up but seriously miscalculating the amount of effort needed on her part and sending herself stumbling forward into Zazzalil.

They both froze, so close to one another that Jemilla could see the small, nearly invisible freckles that lightly dotted Zazzalil’s face. She hadn’t noticed them before. How had she not noticed them before?

It was then when she did notice Zazzalil’s eyes. The familiar, warm, honey brown eyes were widened, and drifted slowly to Jemilla’s lips. Jemilla’s head bowed forward, and her hands left Zazzalil’s and trailed lightly to the girl’s hips. 

“Zazzalil,” she murmured, finding herself oddly breathless.

Suddenly, two things happened at nearly the exact same time. Zazzalil suddenly stepped back, an immeasurable amount of guilt washing across her face.

She said “wait-” as the doorbell rang loudly upstairs.

Jemilla wished she could say that she didn’t know what the guilt was for, but she did, and the reason made her feel the painful stabbing in her chest as well.

“Let’s go upstairs-”

“I need to use your bathroom-”


	17. appetence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun times fun times girlfriends being STUPID

_ appetence: an eager desire, an instinctive inclination; an attraction or a natural bond _

Well. Fuck.

Of course she had to fuck everything up like this. It was typical. Truly typical.

Zazzalil tried to calm the growing fire that burned inside of her, her hands shaking as she nebulously wandered through Jemilla’s house. She’d been instructed that the bathroom was three doors down and to the left, but the one Zazzalil had accidentally stumbled into was certainly not a bathroom.

But it was too late now, and Zazzalil was forcing back tears as she slumped against the door of the room she’d just wandered into.

They were not tears of guilt, rather tears of pain. Her fire hadn’t burned as angrily or as suddenly as this since the morning she’d heard that War Master had died and the sudden realization of Hero-hood had dawned on her.

“Oh fuck.” Zazzalil’s head rested in her hands. She felt like a failure, but god was she just so  _ guilty _ . It was unbearable. She’d leaned so close to Jemilla, found herself so ready to kiss her, and then the horrifyingly familiar scent of spearmint and happiness had slammed into her like a brick wall and she was left with hot, consuming guilt.

Zazzalil let out an angry, frustrated sigh. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to punch Peacemaker. Or make out with her. Either way the act would be fueled with flaming anger for making her ditch Jemilla to pay for the pizza herself and ruining what was the Most Anticipated Kiss of the Season for her.

Zazzalil froze suddenly. Oh, fuck. What would she tell Jemilla? 

_ Oh yeah, by the way, sorry I flaked out on kissing you but I’m actually in this weird little friends-with-benefits type situation with Hatchetfield’s Hero but she also hates a version of me that she doesn’t know is me and I can't control my pyrokinesis. _

The thought caused a new wave of cold fear to surge through Zazzalil’s veins and, as if on cue, her left hand promptly burst into violet flame.

“Shit. Shit!” 

She shook her hand wildly, but to no avail. Her hand flexed open and closed but the growing flame did nothing to dissipate. Zazzalil looked around, but was horrified to see that there was no close source of water like a sink or shower. Why couldn’t she have just found a  _ fucking bathroom? _

It was at that moment that a quick glance around the room told Zazzalil probably the worst thing she could have realized in that moment. She had not only  _ not _ stumbled into the bathroom; she had stumbled into  _ Jemilla’s bedroom _ .

“You’re fucking kidding me!” The whisper-yell left Zazzalil’s throat scratchy and broken, and the lilac flame that engulfed her hand suddenly swelled. 

Fuuuuuuuck.

An idea struck her. Zazzalil’s free hand plunged into the bag that she had dragged with her without noticing, and she pulled out her water bottle. 

“Umm fuck, fuck, fuck.” She stuck her hand out far from her flammable clothes, holding the bottle between her knees to try and unscrew the cap with her free hand, smiling when she did. Zazzalil poured what was left of the water over her burning hand, and let out a long sigh of relief when the fire sizzled out with one last, angry hiss.

Her head fell back against the door and she let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thank fuck,” she whispered to herself. That could have been bad. She had (thankfully) taken off her sweater before she’d freaked out and set herself aflame, and she reached down and dried off her hand.

Part of Zazzalil screamed at her to jump out of the window, and another part of her begged her to stay. She didn’t know what it was about Jemilla that drove her this insane. Maybe it was the familiarity of the happiness and peppermint scent that wafted off of Jemilla. She seemed so familiar. Zazzalil got the feeling that she knew Jemilla in another lifetime or something. 

Or maybe she was just being stupid, but either way Zazzalil tossed her sweater over her shoulder and was about to slip out of the bedroom when something caught her eye. The closet door was opened slightly, and the corner of something blue peeked out. Zazzalil tried to get herself to turn back, but curiosity got the best of her and she made her way to the closer. Her hand rested lightly on the door knob, and the door was opened before she could allow herself time to protest.

Zazzalil froze.

Hanging on the inside of the closet door was a cape. A familiar cape. A dark teal cape that ombréd into black at the bottom. She inhaled sharply. This couldn’t mean…

“I didn’t know Jemilla was a Peacemaker fan,” Zazzalil muttered under her breath. “She must know her, how’d she get this cape so well done? All the details are right, it’s some pretty impressive cosplay.”

Zazzalil chuckled under her breath. She hadn’t expected to Jemilla be the cosplay type, but she did sort of look like the Hero. They had similar hair, and, if Zazzalil had to admit, the same sort of smile. Though Peacemaker’s was usually a more mocking smirk.

Zazzalil nodded, impressed as she shut the closet door. That was one secret she had against Jemilla, she supposed, as she slipped out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Jemilla was transferring pizza from the box onto two plates, and she looked up and smiled as Zazzalil shuffled down the stairs. “Did you find the bathroom alright?”

A tight smile crossed her lips, “yeah. Fine.” She looked at her feet as she made her way to the island and sat down. They were both silent. Zazzalil was trying to compose what she was going to say in her mind, and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Zazzalil-”

“Jemilla-”

They both chuckled awkwardly at the overlapping beginnings.

“You go first,” Jemilla said, pushing a plate of pizza towards her. Zazzalil took a small bite and swallowed before she spoke. Edible courage.

“I wanted to say I was sorry. About that. I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off, not even bothering to try and hide the slight burn of her cheeks. A soft, sympathetic smile traced Jemilla’s lips. Zazzalil looked up from her pizza, meeting her eyes. 

There was something else.

Zazz buffered slightly when she saw it, and some unknown sort of cold tension crackled between them. It looked like fear. Guilt, maybe. But why? Oh, god. For one terrible moment she thought maybe Jemilla was blaming herself for Zazzalil being a scared little bitch. But that wouldn’t make any sense. She inhaled sharply before speaking.

“I’m sorry, Milla, about running out like that.”

“Milla?”

“Trying new things.” Zazzalil didn’t really feel like admitting she’d just stuttered over the first part of the name because Jemilla’s smile had made her nervous.

She smiled more, Zazzalil’s heart thumped, “it’s fine. Really. I’m at fault too, I came on too hard. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Zazzalil was not expecting guilt about  _ that _ of all things. She was the one who had made out with a Hero barely two hours after knowing her, people coming on hard was obviously not her problem. Zazzalil almost groaned. Of course  _ Jemilla _ wouldn’t know that about Zazz, would she? The taller girl looked to the side.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I suppose I misread the situation. I apologize.”

Zazzalil narrowed her eyes. Something was still off. If only she could figure out what. Instead, she just blinked, smiled lightly, and gestured to her food.

“You misread nothing. I am going to eat this pizza now.”

Jemilla blinked in surprise, “and I’ll join you.”

They shyly avoided each other’s gazes as they ate, going on in silence for a few moments before Jemilla cleared her throat and spoke.

“So, there’s a movie that I need to watch for Film Analysis. I haven’t been to the last couple of classes because,” she paused, then smirked, “well, because. Want to watch it with me?”

“Yes, sure. Absolutely.” Jemilla smiled.

“Great.” 

They sat down on the couch, and Jemilla looked over at the lamp on Zazzalil’s side. She sighed, the movie was starting and the light blared annoyingly. She scooter a little closer to the smaller girl. Zazzalil looked at her with a shy smile and a raised eyebrow, and Jemilla smirked.

“The lamp is on,” she explained.

“Oh, I can get it,” Zazz said, twisting over to pull the switch.

“No, you’re fine,” Jemilla insisted, reaching over behind Zazzalil’s shoulders and switching the light off. However, when the light flicked off, Jemilla made no move to pull her arm back, instead letting it drape loosely over Zazzalil’s shoulders.

Zazz smirked, looking up at Jemilla. “Fucking smooth, J-Mills,” she said, nestling deeper into the taller girl’s hold. They smiled at each other as the movie began to play. 

The movie, in Zazzalil’s completely unprofessional opinion, sucked. Jemilla had put on  _ The Graduate _ , and by the end of the movie, Zazzalil was livid.

“It doesn’t make any sense from a cinematic standpoint? Where’s the character development?”

Jemilla smiled slightly at Zazzalil’s fiery indifference, “I think that’s the point, babe. It’s a circle. He goes through this whole adventure and he’s right back where he started.”

Zazzalil was so pissed that, apparently, not even “babe” could calm her down. “But the character development… is nonexistent.”

Jemilla snickered, “that’s the point.”

Zazzalil threw her hands up in exasperation, “well then there is no point! What is the logic in watching this circle of a movie?” She huffed and threw herself back down into the crook of Jemilla’s arm, pulling out her phone for the first time since she’d arrived at Jemilla’s.

“Oh shit,” she said abruptly. The time had twittered to 10:40, ten minutes past her non-work day curfew.

“Something wrong?” Jemilla asked, concern lifting her features.

“I was supposed to be home ten minutes ago. Sherrezade is going to kill me!” Jemilla and Zazzalil stood at the same time.

“I can’t drive my car but I’ll pay for your bus ride home,” Jemilla insisted.

“No, no. It’s fine really. It’s faster if I run, I know the back roads. It’ll take me five minutes tops.”

Jemilla followed Zazzalil to the front door, her eyebrows drawn together as the smaller of the two frantically stuffed her feet into her sneakers.

“At least let me run home with you, it’s dark out.”

Zazzalil smirked, “trust me, I’ll be fine. Thanks though.”

She opened the door and was beginning to step outside when Jemilla grabbed her wrist. “Wait, Zazzalil…” When Zazzalil looked behind her, she could see concern clouding Jemilla’s gaze. 

“I had a great time,” Zazzalil said softly. She stepped closer to Jemilla, lifting herself onto the tips of her toes and kissing the taller girl on the cheek. “Thank you.”

And with that, she took off into the night, leaving Jemilla blushing fiercely on her porch.

She was at the Home in four minutes after power sprinting through backyards and large brambles. She inelegantly burst through the door, her gaze flicking around for one angry foster mom. Instead she was welcomed to a quiet, dimly lit house and Ja’Far waiting patiently on the couch, reading a book.

“Good evening, Zazzalil.” He said, looking up from his novel.

Zazzalil froze, mentally cursing at herself. The others must all be in their rooms. She thought she would be able to sneak back into a crowded movie night, but apparently not. “Sorry I’m late. Is Sherrezade pissed?”

J.F. smiled, “I calmed my wife down for you. I’m sure she thought you were out doing god knows what, I managed to convince her otherwise.”

Zazzalil let out a relieved sigh and dropped on the couch next to the foster dad, “thanks. We were watching a movie, I wasn’t watching the time.”

“How was your date?”

“She’s incredible.”

J.F.’s grin widened. “I’m glad. I don’t want to think about what I’d have to do if anything happened to you by her hand.”

“Ja’Far!” Zazzalil gasped dramatically, causing them to both break out in laughter.

“I see you finished your water.” Zazzalil looked at her bag, then remembered that her water had been emptied out over her flaming hand.

“Yeah,” she said, voice small, “thanks for… it.”

He nodded, looking at Zazzalil with what seemed to be an expectant curiosity. They were silent for a moment, before J.F. looked back down at his book.

“Zazzalil, if you’ll allow me, I have a question.” 

“Sure.”

“You’ve been here since you were nine. Odd to think that it’s been eight years.”

“Odd,” Zazzalil echoed, uncertain of where the conversation was going.

“Do you like it… here?”

Zazzalil blinked, her eyebrows threading together and a small smile growing on her face. “Of course. I love it here. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be.”

Ja’Far nodded slowly, as if processing this information. “And do you trust us- Sherrezade and I?”

“With my life.”

“I see. You know that you can tell us anything? Anything at all, and we’ll help you to the best of our ability.”

Zazzalil blinked, feeling her stomach turn. This conversation was straying into dangerous territory. “Of course,” she said, though her voice was smaller than she would have liked.

“I’m not sure if you know this, I’m afraid I can’t say how aware I am of how fast rumors spread in the Home, but Sherrezade and I had a daughter of our own. She was taken from us a few hours after she was born.”

Zazzalil’s mouth hung open slightly. She had not known. A sad smile was etched painfully on J.F.’s face, and there was a tired look clouding in his eyes as he continued.

“Her name was Jasmine. She’ll be seventeen on July 6th.”

“I-Is she… have you…?”

“Found her? After a while we stopped looking, that was when we started fostering. Sometimes I think,” he looked down at his book, eyes glazing over, “I think that one day she’ll turn up at our doorstep. I wonder if I’d recognize her. She had Sherrezade’s eyes. She…” Ja’Far trailed off, his gaze flicking back and forth and eyebrows twitching slightly. He inhaled sharply, looking up at Zazzalil with misty eyes.

“Ah, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Zazzalil didn’t reply, just stared at Ja’Far. He smiled. It still seemed sad. “The point is that I need you to know that I will do anything to help you whenever help is needed.”

Zazzalil nodded slowly, “alright,” she said.

Ja’Far nodded, pushing his reading glasses back down his nose and returning to his book as he let out a quiet, “good.” Zazzalil was stilled, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for Ja’Far to do something. Instead he looked up at her expectantly, eyebrows raised, and he said, “you can go to bed now, Zazzalil. Don’t stay on your phone too late.”

Zazzalil stood quickly, “good night,” she whispered before slipping up the stairs.

How odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUNSHIT


	18. excoriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos! :)

_ excoriate: to denounce or berate severely; flay verbally _

Jemilla stared at the old radio in her hands, her fingers fiddling with the knobs. It switched through different types of static, some with vague words mumbling indistinctly through the speakers.

She sighed, adjusting the antenna and rolling the dial knob between her fingers once more. There was a click, and then a voice flooded over the dull static.

“ _ Anything, sarge?” _

_ “Clear skies.” _

Jemilla pumped her fist in the air. The police radio had been Molag’s, given to her by the Hatchetfield Police Department when she’d publicly announced she was Going Home. It was old, and worked one out of every twenty times. Jemilla was usually so frustrated with it that she had let it go forgotten in the basement. Until today. 

Today was a special day.

Today Peacemaker was going public. Of course, in order to do so, Jemilla would need to find a broad daylight crime to stop. It didn’t have to be major, it could be saving a kitten from a tree, but Peacemaker had been hyped up and it was time for her to show what all the hype was about.

Jemilla listened intently to the radio, waiting for something.  _ Anything. _ She made herself a sandwich, hanging upside down in her Peacemaker suit and eating as she listened to the idle conversation between the officers. She perked up at the news of a lady named Kathy having lost her cat in a tree, though sighed in defeat and slumped back down when it was closely followed by “ _ her cat is dead. _ ”

And then, as the afternoon edged lazily into evening, the static was disrupted with frantic voices.

_ “There’s a robbery at the bank on the corner of Bauer Lane and West Dikrat Road.” _

_ “On it.” _

Jemilla smiled, rolling herself off of the couch and smiling as she felt the grappling hook mechanically fit around her hand. “On it.”

It took her all of two minutes to swing to the bank (she was getting  _ good _ at this), and upon setting herself down close to the bank, she could see police cars already on their way, ready to swarm the scene. She’d have to act fast.

Jemilla burst through the glass door, quickly surveying the scene. Three people, two with guns. One had a knife that was pointed at the terrified lady filling the bag with money; one with a gun was watching the door, and the other guarding the one person with the inconvenient enough timing that he found himself at the bank at the moment of its being robbed.

The one guarding the door would have to come first, Jemilla immediately assumed as she saw the man, dressed in all black with a store-bought Tribe mask, swing towards her with his gun pointed straight at Jemilla’s chest.

“Hey-” he began to say before quickly coming to his senses and releasing a frantic shot. It was wild, and missed in part due to Jemilla’s twisting out of the line of fire and quickly springing up to the man. Her hand snatched his bare pulse, and under her mask, Jemilla’s eyes rolled into the icy blue of the robber’s.

She kept him squirming and helpless in her grip. His mind was weak. It wasn’t hard.

The one guarding the hostage quickly raised her gun, and Jemilla found herself speaking in a low, firm voice that made the robber stop.

“You shoot, and your friend’s head explodes.” This wasn’t entirely what would happen (though the pain would be something similar), but the gruesome scene the robber in Jemilla’s grip was displaying was enough to convince the hostage-guarding robber of just that. The man twitched and convulsed, his veins popping and eyes threatening to roll into his head, and gargled screams bubbled from his throat.

The woman shot anyway. Jemilla could see that she would from a mile away, but the way the man was tortured under her screeching hold brought from her just enough of a hesitation that Jemilla could step slightly to the left and shove the man into the line of fire. He was shot twice in the abdomen. 

Jemilla dropped him as he bled and the woman gasped in horror at what had just gone down. Another extremely welcomed distraction as Jemilla rushed forward, landing a solid sidekick to the ribs and then letting her foot touch the ground and bounce back up with a hard roundhouse kick to her nose. The woman screamed in pain and dropped the gun, then dropping to her knees when Jemilla’s hand flashed out and grabbed her face, momentarily creating a connection in which the Hero mentally shrieked and the woman’s mouth opened in a silent scream as she fell. Jemilla then turned slowly towards the one with the knife.

He and the bank teller had both been staring helplessly at the scene as it rapidly unfolded. The blaring police sirens became loud as the cars pulled up around the bank, and Jemilla raised an eyebrow at the man. He stared at her for a brief second, conflict racing through his eyes, and Jemilla inhaled sharply at the realization of what he was trying to decide whether or not to do.

The decision was apparently quickly made, and as Jemilla flashed forward, the robber wrenched his arm back, readying to drive it into or at least threaten the bank teller with the knife.

But, Jemilla was just in time. She placed both her hands on the robbers neck from behind, and her lips lightly brushed his ear as she whispered.

_ “Drop the knife.” _

The robber froze, though the knife didn’t fall from his grip. Horror twisted his features under the fake Hero mask, and Jemilla whispered again.

_ “Go on. Drop it.” _

His hand shook and the bank teller took the opportunity to duck and run. 

_ “Come now,”  _ Jemilla coaxed gently. This one’s mind was stronger than the other robbers, and it was harder to get him to listen. His fingers twitched, and Jemilla’s eyes narrowed, but suddenly a crashing noise sounded from the front of the bank, followed by a loud “ _ oof _ .”

Jemilla looked up quickly, the connection severing, and horror spread across her features.

Firebringer stood in front of the bank, the cheap Tribe mask crooked on her face and the sleeves of her black hoodie and odd button up shirt pushed up.

“No way,” Jemilla said in irate disbelief, momentarily forgetting about the bank robber. He quickly grabbed the knife after hazily recovering from the Heroes mind grip. He spun around before Jemilla could react, though he was still out of it and the knife slashed sloppily through her shoulder. A strangled scream left her mouth and a loud “shit!” came from Firebringer.

The robber made a break for the door, but Firebringer stepped in his path, her fists lighting themselves on fire with different shades of mauve purple as a glower crossed her features.

“Don’t even think about it, buddy.”

The robber’s grip on his knife tightened, and Peacemaker gripped her bleeding shoulder and lowered into a stance. She could practically see the gears in the man’s mind working, and the small step he took back told her what he was about to do.

Apparently, Firebringer made note of the robber’s intent to try and use his knife against Peacemaker once more, and anger clouded her features. The fires that were her fists grew, and the edges of her black hoodie began to sizzle. This seemed to make the robber reconsider.

“Drop the knife, sir.” Firebringer said lowly. Jemilla did everything in her power to not yell at the aflame girl, as she feared it would only make the situation worse. The police began to swarm the doors, none of them entering the bank, however, as they weighed the precarious situation. 

Firebringer’s arms stretched out in front of her, her blazing palms open and facing the robber. “I don’t want to have to do this, but you take one more step towards Peacemaker and you leave me no choice.”

Jemilla bit back the “no!” that rose to her throat as the robber hesitated one more moment. He sighed and dropped the knife.

Jemilla swiftly came up behind the robber, and the fist of her good arm raised and slashed viciously down across the man’s temple. He was down before he could realize it had happened.

“Nice,” Firebringer said with a smile. The police began to enter the bank.

Jemilla glared at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Firebringer looked around. “I’m helping you,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Helping? You made the situation a thousand times worse.”

“What? You got slashed across the shoulder.” 

Jemilla huffed indignantly, “only because  _ you _ distracted me!”

She then paused, as if struck by realization, and then walked up to the Hero, worry written across her face. “How’s your shoulder? Does it hurt?”

“Of course it hurts,” she snapped, “it’s fine. It’ll heal in a few days.”

Firebringer blinked, “what.”

“Super genes, dumbass. You’ve got them, too. We heal faster than normal people. Did you seriously not know that?”

The small girl coughed, “right. Of course I knew that.” 

It was apparent that she did not.

Peacemaker sighed and took a step back from Firebringer. “You’re still on fire, by the way.”

“Oh shit.” She stared at her hands, which were both still aflame, and sighed. Jemilla suspected she was closing her eyes under the mask and she frowned.

“Need me to get the fire extinguisher?” She mocked, half serious. The mauve fire only grew.

“Shut up, the angrier I am the bigger it gets. It’s either this or I find some other way to release anger or pain or fear or whatever.”

Jemilla scoffed. “Like what?”

Firebringer paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. The flames began to slowly die down. “Well if you wanted to kiss me I’m sure that would help.” Jemilla practically choked on air.

“Sorry,  _ what _ ?”

“Long story.” The last of the violet flames died down. “There,” Firebringer said with satisfaction. Jemilla rolled her eyes.

“Leave. You’ve caused enough damage as is and I need to deal with the police.”

Firebringer’s face fell, “but- I can  _ help _ . I know karate now! My friend taught me some last night!”

“Firebringer,  _ I _ taught a girl karate for about 45 minutes last night and she probably knows more than your incompetent ass. Now.  _ Leave _ .”

Firebringer huffed, but turned around and marched out the door, avoiding the police.

Jemilla sighed and took a step back, her arms folded as she surveyed the damage. Overall, not terrible. Police were about to rush onto the scene, and the man that had been shot would survive.

“A solid seven,” she whispered to herself, though she could almost hear Molag’s voice tauntingly correct,  _ “eh, a six.” _

The police speaker suddenly loudly came to life, and a voice yelled, “slowly step out with your hands above your head!” Jemilla sighed, briefly wondering if the police had snagged Firebringer before she’d ducked the crowd. These were just the formalities, but she picked through the bodies and came out with her hands raised above her head.

There had been a circle of timid, gun-wielding police officers waiting, and they slowly dropped their weapons at the sight of the Hero stepping from the crime scene.

“Y-You’re the Hero!” One of them said excitedly.

“My name is Peacemaker. Can I put my arms down?”

There were approving mumbles that rose from the crowd, and soon a few scattered questions followed. She ignored the ones about herself, they could be saved for when the press arrived (which she was sure was soon), and instead began talking to the Chief about the robbery, a scruffy-looking man named Sam.

He was mostly (and thankfully) admiring of Peacemaker, he had been a fan of War Master’s and upon hearing about Jemilla’s “connections” to her he was elated. Jemilla didn’t really have the time nor the effort to fully explain her powers, so she shortened it to “limited mind control,” which, in itself, was not entirely incorrect but impressed Sam anyway.

Jemilla eyed the perimeter outside of the crime scene. Press and passbyes were starting to gather, and the Hero said a quick goodbye to the Chief before she headed off to greet them.

The bombardment started the moment Jemilla came into earshot of the growing crowd. She barely had time to tell them her name before the questions swarmed.

“Did you know War Master?”

“Yes. We were close.”

“Do you plan on becoming Hatchetfield’s Hero?”

“Seems that way.”

“Has the Tribe reached out to you yet?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.”

“Tell us about your costume!”

“It, uh, was not designed by me. The colors look good on me I guess.”

Her scarce jokes landed with the crowd, and the nervousness that shot through Jemilla began to slowly ebb away. She was beginning to calm down and feel proud of herself for handling the robbery when a question rang out above the others.

“What’s the situation with the fire Hero?”

“Firebringer? She’s not a Hero.”

There were hushed mumbles and frantic scribbling and typing sounds before the questions started again.

“Is she going to compete against you for Hatchetfield?”

A frown traced Jemilla’s mouth. “She can try.”

“What does that mean, Peacemaker?”

Anger bubbled in Jemilla. “She’s untrained and unknowledgeable on everything about being a Hero. She can barely control her powers. She’s dangerous, and I’ll do everything in my power to protect Hatchetfield from her.”

The hushed mumbles ripples through the crowd once more, and were closely followed by the writing and typing sounds. 

Jemilla let her eyes trace the crowd. She went momentarily rigid as her gaze met another pair of increasingly familiar, white shields and a burnt black hoodie in the thick crowd. Jemilla blinked, and then they were gone. 

She looked at the ground, barely hearing the questions as they began to rise from the crowd once more. The sun was beginning to set, and Jemilla suddenly felt sick.

“I have to go, thank you all for your time.” She walked away from the crowd quickly, pulling out the grappling hook and letting the glove features mechanically encase her hand. Jemilla didn’t spare a look back as she slung it out and began swinging home.

She didn’t want to think about Firebringer, so as she landed on her porch and ripped off her mask Jemilla let her mind wander to Zazzalil. She’d left in a rush, but the night had been nice.

Jemilla wished she could let her identity be known to the girl, but things with the Tribe would get messy and complicated, and considering the fragileness of her situation right now, Jemilla did not want to mess with it. 

She was guilty. And so was Zazzalil. That much was obvious. The painful part was that Zazz didn’t know why Jemilla felt guilty, and it made the situation that much worse. 

Jemilla groaned, slumping against the front door and rubbing her temples. She was confused and pissed off and guilty for putting Zazzalil through unnecessary emotional trauma. She looked up. The sun was still beginning to dip beneath the horizon and Jemilla could see light pink streaks hanging in the sky. She bet Beanie’s looked beautiful right now from the rooftop.

Without a second thought Jemilla put her mask back on and let the grappling hook fit around her hand, snapping the tool and kicking her boots before slipping into the dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliche chaos! :)


	19. atrabilious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zazzalil does not learn! :)

> _ atrabilious: gloomy; morose; melancholy _

Zazzalil was forcing back tears. 

She’d let herself into Beanie’s (it closed at 6:00) with the key her boss had given her to open, and in the garbage had quickly disposed of her burnt hoodie. The button up, fire resistant shirt was still in decent shape, but seeing it made Zazzalil feel even worse and so she’d shoved it in her backpack along with the cheap mask.

She sat on the ledge of Beanie’s roof in nothing but a tank top and jeans, staring at the sunset with a small violet flame cupped in her hands to keep her warm.

Peacemaker’s words rang hollowly in her ears.

Zazzalil closed her eyes, trying to gulp down the anger that rose in her throat like bile. Peacemaker was just trying to do the right thing. But so was she. Zazzalil sniffed and snuffed the small fire out, rubbing her eyes. 

She wanted to stop, to quietly step down and let Peacemaker do the work, but something inside of her whispered for her to stay. Zazzalil looked at her hands. She hadn’t felt this alive in a while. She hadn’t had to sneak to the bathroom to release some of the burning pressure yet today. It was nice.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Zazzalil didn’t even jump when a familiar voice broke the stillness.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

Peacemaker sat down beside her. “Aren’t you cold?” The Hero asked, eyeing Zazzalil’s tank top. She was, in fact, cold. It was warmer today than it had been, but that was not to say that it was by any means tank top weather. The girl shrugged, avoiding eye contact with Peacemaker and keeping her gaze trained on the swath of pink and purple that painted the sky.

The Hero sighed and Zazzalil heard a rustle, though she soon stiffened upon feeling a warm cloth draped over her shoulders. Her eyes widened and she looked down, seeing that Peacemaker had given her her cape.

“What’s this? Aren’t  _ you _ cold?” She asked, meeting the Hero’s gaze for the first time since she’d appeared on the rooftop. Zazzalil eyed Peacemaker’s outfit, frowning. “You’re literally in a crop top.” Without waiting for a response, Zazz lifted her arm and scooted closer to the Hero, draping one end of the cape on her far shoulder and making them share it.

“Thank you,” Peacemaker said quietly. Zazzalil didn’t respond. The Hero shifted closer to the smaller girl, sighing lightly. “You’re warm.”

“Why do you hate Firebringer?”

Peacemaker blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. “Sorry?”

“‘She’s dangerous? I’ll do everything in my power to protect Hatchetfield from her?’ That seems like a little much, doesn’t it? She’s just trying to help.” Zazzalil looked over the ledge as she spoke, her eyebrows drawn together and a sad frown tugging at her lips.

Peacemaker opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She sighed. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try.”

“She’s… reckless.”

“Reckless doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous.”

“It does when every move you make needs to be thought out before you make it. It does when there are lives that are not your own at stake.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?”

Peacemaker frowned. “I am.”

“Trying to get rid of her by turning the media against her isn’t what I meant.”

“The media won’t turn against her,” the Hero objected, “I’m too new for them to totally trust me yet, and they probably want some drama, anyway. They’ll find good things to say about her, they’ll make people take sides.”

Zazzalil curled into herself, shivering lightly. Peacemaker stretched one arm over her shoulders and drew the smaller girl closer into her. Zazz rested her head against the Hero’s shoulder. “That’s not being a Hero,” she whispered bitterly, “that’s not justice. That’s playing a game.”

“Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

“It’s a fucking game of chess,” Zazzalil spat. A sour taste was left in her mouth.

“I know. It’s not fair.”

She exhaled shakily, her grip on the edge of the roof tightening. 

“Zazzalil,” Peacemaker whispered. She looked up at the Hero slowly. She seemed sad. Guilty. And then she was leaning in, and Zazzalil let her eyes fall shut as Peacemaker pressed her mouth against hers in a timid kiss.

Zazzalil pulled back after a few, slow moments. Her eyes stung with tears once more that welled angrily behind her eyes.

“Peacemaker, I-” she cut herself off, casting her gaze downwards.

“I know,” the Hero murmured.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know.”

The sky sifted into a hazy, deep lavender and the long shadows being cast against the earth slowly began to fade. Zazzalil was taking deep, slow breaths, trying to hold back her tears. In her mind, all she could see was Jemilla’s smile.

“Are you mad?” Zazzalil cared about the answer more than she wanted to admit.

“Of course not,” Peacemaker replied, “are you?”

“No. I’m just tired.”

The Hero nodded, “want me to take you home?”

Zazzalil considered walking, but she wanted to shower and get the acrid-sweet smell of her smoke out of her skin and go to bed. She nodded and Peacemaker wrapped one hand around her waist.

“Hold on.”

She dropped Zazzalil off in a secluded area by the Home. It was almost 7:30, and the sky was darkening still.

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Peacemaker met Zazzalil’s gaze through the white shields of her mask. They held each other’s stare for a moment, before the Hero took a small step towards Zazz and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

“Stay safe,” she said, and then flicked her grappling hook out and swung between the houses.

“Good bye,” Zazzalil whispered softly into the empty air. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at the space where Peacemaker had been, and then turned on her heels and left.

That night, after she showered and tucked herself into bed for an early night due to an early shift in the morning and a general exhaustion from the days events (the others were downstairs watching Aladdin and teasing Ja’Far about having the namesake of a total creep), her phone buzzed gently.

_ Hey, it’s Jemilla. How are you? _

In spite of herself, Zazzalil felt a small smile trace her lips.

_ I’m fine. You? _

_ Stellar. _

_ That sounds sarcastic. _

_ I’ve just had a hectic day lol. _

_ Sorry to hear that. Did you see the news? _

_ Crazy stuff. _

_ Totally. _

_ Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to go out again tomorrow? I had a really nice time last night… _

_ So did I :) _

Zazzalil erased the smiley face, paused, then retyped it. Cheesy suited her. She followed the text with:

_ Maybe you would let me take you to lunch tomorrow? There’s a really cute place down the street from Beanie’s. _

_ Sounds great! _

_ I get off at 12:30. Early shift. Does 1:30 sound okay? _

_ 1:30 sounds wonderful. _

_ Can’t wait to see you. _

_ You, too.  _

_ Sorry, I’m retiring early. Night, J-Mills. _

_ No problem. Au revoir, babe :P _

Zazzalil smothered her face in her pillow, trying to rid of the stupid grin. Her cheeks burned slightly and her chest thumped loudly. What a  _ flirt _ . God, she was almost as bad as Peacemaker. Not that Zazzalil particularly minded it, it was endearing and made her stomach wring like a wet towel.

A date (oh shit, a  _ date _ ) was a perfect distraction from the clusterfuck that was Zazzalil’s mind, at the moment.

She turned her phone off and set it on the nightstand. As she began to slowly drift off to sleep, Zazzalil vaguely discerned that Peacemaker and Jemilla had similar smiles. Both so happy.

Both, so genuine.

Zazzalil sighed. She wasn’t out of the woods yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is you stupid-  
YES~


	20. gerful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you MEAN the chapter titles are getting stupid fuck you you don’t know shit

_ gerful: wild and wayward _

Jemilla cocked her head as she looked at herself in the mirror. A plain, white t-shirt with the front tucked into cuffed, faded jeans seemed appropriate, but lacking. She sighed and let her gaze wander around her room. Just as empty as it always was. 

Jemilla did what Jemilla did best, and that was beginning to pace. She traced familiar paths along the house, eventually wandering into Molag’s room. It was even emptier, and the moment Jemilla walked in a loud, inner voice yelled at her to walk out. She hadn’t been in the room since Molag had died. She sighed.

Molag would like that Jemilla was going on a date. She was always worried that the young Hero would put work way ahead of free time. Jemilla smiled. Maybe she would have, but Zazzalil helped. The suffocating responsibilities of her duties were softened by the look in Zazzalil’s eyes whenever she smiled.

Jemilla stood in the doorway of Molag’s room, her gaze quickly flicking around the room. She paused. Hanging on the door handle was an old, worn leather jacket with a faded patch of War Master’s turtle sewn into the back. Jemilla’s breath caught in her throat. 

Vaguely, memories resurfaced and played like a film in her mind. Ten year-old Jemilla stealing the jacket and wearing it around the house as she waited for Molag to return home from a day being a Hero. Twelve year-old Jemilla stealing the jacket and hiding it because she was mad at Molag. Molag offhandedly saying that she should get a motorcycle to go with the jacket and scrolling online with Jemilla for half an hour looking for one. Jemilla being annoyed when she found out that Molag had zero intention of buying a motorcycle because, quote, “they were way too dangerous for tiny, privileged fucks like you.”

Jemilla spilling ice cream on it on her first date with Clark.

Jemilla crying into Molag’s jacket-clad shoulder when they broke up.

Jemilla spilling ketchup on it on her first date with Claire.

A similar, tearful situation when they broke up.

Without another moment's hesitation, Jemilla walked into the room, snagged the jacket, and walked out, grinning at its near-perfect fit. Her hands stuffed in the pockets and Jemilla stiffened suddenly, feeling her fingers wrap around an object that had been curled in the pocket.

“Oh wow.” Jemilla pulled out a necklace. A choker, actually. She recognized it. On it hung three shark teeth with the bottoms stained purple. Molag had worn it occasionally. She said it didn’t match with the rest of her outfit. Jemilla let out a shaky sigh and put it back in the pocket. Another time.

Zazzalil was the first one there. As Jemilla walked up to the cafe, she could see the smaller girl standing by the front, nervously rocking on her heels with her hands clasped behind her back. Jemilla smiled. Zazzalil wore a grey, long sleeved shirt under a gigantic jean jacket, an outfit complimented by her black skirt and leggings.

“Hey,” Jemilla said as she walked up to Zazzalil. She smiled brightly and Jemilla’s heart twirled.

“Hi. I, I got you this.” From behind her back, Zazzalil pulled a single red rose. Jemilla froze.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her eyes widening, “it’s so…”

“Cliche?” Zazzalil chuckled nervously, “Sherrezade told me to get one. And- Ja’Far is the one who put together this outfit.”

“No,” Jemilla said, surprised by how brightly her face burned as she took the rose and held it gently in between her middle finger and thumb, “it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Zazzalil grinned shyly, stepping back and holding the door open to let the taller girl in. Jemilla smiled and they took their seats.

“What are you thinking?” Zazzalil asked as her gaze skimmed the menu, but she got no response. When she looked up, Jemilla was staring past her shoulder, eyes narrowed in concentration behind her. Zazz turned around, and saw that the TV in the corner of the room was on and turned to a local news station to act as background noise. Zazzalil frowned. On it, the screen switched from a blonde reporter to video taken of the bank robbery from a bystanders crappy phone-footage. Firebringer and her blazing hands were intensely visible, and the image cut to Peacemaker’s short interview before the bank footage got gruesome.

“What do you think of the Heroes?” Zazzalil inquired, turning back around.

Jemilla’s gaze tore from the screen, and she paused before looking down at the menu. “Peacemaker seems cool,” she said as nonchalantly as she could, “but the Firebringer girl makes me nervous.”

Zazzalil smirked, “I don’t know. I think she’s pretty hot.”

“Oh my god, no.”

“Hi, I’m Zoey. Can I get your guys’ orders?” Both Jemilla and Zazzalil looked up in surprise at the dark haired waitress that had suddenly popped up. 

“Just a hot chocolate for me,” Jemilla said with a small smile. “With whipped cream.”

“I pegged you more as a chai latte kind of girl,” Zazzalil commented. 

“I’m full of surprises.” 

“Oh really? I see. I’ll have a turmeric latte, please.”

“Sure. A hidden gem.”

“Could I possibly get a shot of hazelnut in that?”

“No problem. That’ll be right up.”

As the waiter walked away, Zazzalil turned to find Jemilla watching her with a raised eyebrow. “Turmeric latte?”

“I have no idea what it is. Ja’Far said I’d sound classy ordering it.”

“Then why order it with a shot of hazelnut?”

“Well I had to sound like I knew what I was doing, didn’t I?” 

Jemilla chuckled, “have fun with that then, I suppose.”

Zazzalil’s cheek rested in her palm and her eyes narrowed, a sly sort of smile stretching across her face. “I always have fun when I’m with you, anyways.”

Jemilla’s eye roll didn’t do much to distract from the red tint in her cheeks and she crossed her ankles. “We were talking about Heroes?”

“We were.”

Briefly, Jemilla’s mind wandered to her conversation with the girl on Beanie’s rooftop last night and she shrugged. “I still don’t understand what you see in Firebringer.”

“Well she’s got badass powers.”

“Her mask looks like it’s from the Dollar Tree.”

“And when did that have anything to do with her badass powers?” 

Jemilla’s head tilted to the side, and though her eyes narrowed, the competitive smile still hanging on her lips. “There are certain aspects to the job that make you seem more like a Hero. She’s got the powers, sure, but if she doesn’t have the wardrobe then does she have backing from the Tribe? And if she doesn’t, then does that mean that she hasn’t had any proper training?”

“Who said it’s a job for her?” Jemilla blinked. “Maybe she’s just trying to help Peacemaker. I mean Peacemaker is young and new. Maybe she needs all the help she can get but she just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Are you and Peacemaker close?” Jemilla knew it was a low shot to catch Zazzalil off guard, but it worked. Zazz blinked, then blushed, then opened her mouth and tried to collect her words.

“I- no. Well. Yes, sort of. A little. She saved me from-”

“Being mugged. Yes, I know.”

Zazzalil shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.” The sadness in Zazzalil’s voice caught Jemilla off guard. 

“I see,” she said softly. She did not. “Here, how about this. We make a bet. Peacemaker becomes Hatchetfield’s Hero, you owe me hot chocolates for life. Firebringer becomes the Hero, I owe you stupid turmeric lattes for life.”

Zazzalil shifted in her seat, her eyes boring into Jemilla’s with an unreadable expression. The intensity with which the smaller girl matched other people’s gazes never failed to take Jemilla’s breath away.

“Deal,” Zazz said simply. Jemilla grinned and opened her mouth, about to speak, when a mug of hot chocolate was suddenly placed in front of her.

“Here,” Zoey said as she sat a mug containing a steaming, opaque yellow drink in front of Zazzalil. “Enjoy your drinks, guys.”

“That was fast,” Zazzalil commented dully as the waitress walked away. 

“Quite. Cheers. To Hatchetfield’s future Hero.” Zazzalil smiled and carefully raised her spoon to clink it with Jemilla’s.

“Cheers,” she whispered, her dark gaze once again finding Jemilla’s with a certain, shadowy earnestness that sent a shiver straight down Jemilla’s spine.

The moment their spoons clinked together, somebody elsewhere in the cafe let out a shocked, “oh my god!”

All heads turned around, only to immediately find the TV. On it, Snarl was seen leaping off of the ground and landing into the hood a police car, denting it severely and causing the sirens to go off and play their sad, distorted tune. There was a gunshot, and the video spun around to show a few police officers all lying on the ground, save for one who had shakily made it to his knees and had fired a single bullet. It had missed.

“Oh shit,” somebody in the cafe crowd said at the sight of the fallen officers. 

Without looking from the TV, Zazzalil and Jemilla said, “I have to go,” at the same time. Zazzalil stuffed her hand into her pocket and slammed a crumpled $20 on the table, yelling “sorry!” at Jemilla before she sprinted out.

Jemilla was too in her head to notice. She quickly ran out the door, chugging home and cursing her lack of preparedness as she cut through back alleyways and tore through backyards. Jemilla was home soon, completely out of breath but ignoring her tired pants as she ripped off her clothes and quickly changed.

She was done in record time, and stuffed her feet in her boots. There was a hiss of air, and then they sealed tightly around her feet. The grappling hook opened and then mechanically closed around Jemilla’s hand. She cast a quick glance in the mirror before she left. She was ready for this.

The officers were extremely grateful when Peacemaker showed up to the scene. Snarl had taken an entire police car and was using it to block the stray bullets that fired his way. Sam yelled for his men to stand down the moment Peacemaker stepped into any line of fire for fear a misguided bullet lodging itself in between her shoulder blades, and she dove into action.

Snarl laughed, a sickening, velvety sound, and ripped his clawed hands down the door of the police car. “I’ve been waiting for you, little one. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.”

Peacemaker snapped the grappling hook at Snarl, and he sidestepped and raised a giant forearm in its way. The grappling hook tightened into his skin, and Jemilla smiled as she prepared to step back. Unfortunately, this did not have the desired effect as the moment that Jemilla released the button, Snarl tugged his trapped arm forward and Jemilla went flying towards him.

She gasped as his hulking body rapidly came into her view, and Snarl’s free hand struck forward and caught Jemilla by the shoulder before she could slam into him. “Well, child? Are you ready to die?”

“Funny, I was just about to ask the same of you.” And without another moment's hesitation, Jemilla went limp in Snarl’s grasp. He paused, then immediately tried to let go of her the moment he realized what she was attempting to do.

It was too late. Under her mask, Jemilla’s eyes flicked to a glinting, slitted yellow and she whispered sweetly for Snarl to continue holding on to her.

He groaned and twitched, his free hand slamming into his skull. Jemilla’s body tensed as she tried desperately to keep her mental hold on Snarl’s mind. He was strong. Very strong. Strong enough that when Jemilla let out a piercing mental shriek, the hulking Rogue yelled and immediately dropped her.

Jemilla tried to scrambled to her feet, but Snarl’s hand came flying from above and backfisted her across her stomach, sending the Hero flying across the lot next to the abandoned warehouse that Snarl had chosen to cause trouble around.

She groaned, her vision flicking quickly between black and a faded and disoriented, but real time, version. Suddenly, there was a loud yell that Jemilla couldn’t make out, and then heat blazed against her skin. Squinting, Jemilla looked up. Standing over her with her arms sticking out in front of her and sending licks of twisting violet flames from them was Firebringer.

Peacemaker rubbed her eyes, feeling hyper-aware of the metallic taste of blood on her tongue, and began to try and stand up.

Suddenly, there was a boom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nevermind I DONT KNOW SHIT


	21. internecine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a trap!

_ internecine: mutually destructive _

Bombs. Snarl had put bombs in the abandoned factory. It was a trap.

The moment Zazzalil let violet fire spill from her fists, Snarl had leapt out of the way and the fire had crashed and dispersed into the giant hole in the crumbling warehouse.

And then there was an explosion. Zazzalil, on instinct, fell to the ground and let her body blanket Peacemaker’s. She knew that the heat from the blast wouldn’t affect her, but the hot pain that ripped through her body the moment she crashed into the pavement sure as hell did.

Taking only a few moments to try and recover, Zazzalil warily sprang to her feet. There was a throbbing pain in multiple parts of her body and a loud ringing pulsed in her ears, but she was otherwise unaffected. Peacemaker lay still at her feet, but to Zazzalil’s relief she could hear her breathing.

It was ragged and broken, there were definitely a few broken ribs, but at least it was there.

Zazzalil looked around. Both of her palms lay flat on Peacemaker’s side and she hovered protectively over the Hero. The warehouse was on fire, red and purple twisting together in a maddening dance, and was smoking viciously, thick black plumes spiraling from the degrading building. Snarl was nowhere to be seen.

At least, that was what Zazzalil thought until she felt a rough sidekick launch itself into her back and she was sent flying forward, thankfully rolling onto her side before she could plant face-down into the pavement.

Zazzalil scrambled dazedly to her feet. Snarl now stood over Peacemaker, his yellow eyes glinting against the thick, black smoke that fogged the air. The smoke didn’t sting Zazzalil’s eyes or layer in her lungs, but the unconscious Heroes breath became noticeably heavier.

“No!” Zazzalil cried, her arms reaching out as she felt a nonexistent hand to plunge into her and coax out the already raging fire. However, Snarl bent down and picked Peacemaker up by the neck. She was limp in his hands. “Oh, god,” Zazzalil whimpered. There was no way she could manage to catch Snarl in the flames without also catching Peacemaker. 

She hesitated, and for Snarl, it was enough. The Rogue tossed Peacemaker over his shoulder and, instead of trying to fight, let out a sharp, scratchy laugh and flashed into the blazing warehouse. Zazzalil chased after him. 

The most inconvenient thing for her as she picked her way up the multiple floors of the crumbling, burning building was that she couldn’t see through the fire and smoke. She felt the heat, but was unfazed by it, and only hoped that her clothes wouldn’t catch too badly as she followed the dark outline of Snarl though the warehouse.

She cursed under her breath when he disappeared. Zazzalil stopped moving, closing her masked eyes and listening very carefully. The sound of the building groaning with effort filled her ears, and old planks snapping and crackling as they burned echoed in her ears. Zazzalil’s eyes snapped open.

_ There- _

Another kick was thrust firmly into her side, sending Zazzalil crashing into a flaming pillar that snapped easily against her sudden weight. Zazzalil crashed to the floor and chunks of ceiling and pillar followed, some landing on her back and most nearly missing.

Once more, Zazzalil recovered as quickly as she could and stood. She knew there was pain, immense measures of it, probably, but at the moment Zazzalil only felt drained. The amount of fire that surrounded her overloaded her senses and drained her of her energy, and Zazzalil felt heavy and weak as she faced off Snarl.

“You have been fun to play with,” Snarl said, though it was obvious that he was having trouble hiding the effort and pain laced in his scratchy, crushed velvet voice. “I can’t wait to watch your face when she dies.”

“Wait!” Zazzalil cried, but Snarl had slipped the unconscious Peacemaker from his shoulder and was holding her up by her throat. 

“Say goodbye,” Snarl growled, delight evident in his tone. Zazzalil opened her mouth to yell, but she froze. Peacemaker’s face suddenly contorted with effort and she watched as Snarl abruptly tensed and stiffened.

His eyes widened and mouth fell open, though he said nothing. Instead, the Rogue’s body began to twitch viciously, his head snapping from side to side. Suddenly, a strangled yell burst from his raw throat and he dropped Peacemaker, who fell to the ground though managed to prop herself on her knees with some effort.

Snarl blinked dazedly, not fully recovered, and made a clumsy step to try to escape.

“No you don’t,” Zazzalil whispered under her breath and with outstretched hands ablaze she made a lunge for him.

She managed to grab onto Snarl’s shoulder, and the beastly Rogue yelled out in pain. His hand swung up and in a panicked, instinctual move his fist slammed into the side of Zazzalil’s face. 

She grunted and was sent crashing into a flaming wall.

Then through the wall.

And suddenly, she saw blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets heavy  
moms spaghetti


	22. tatterdemalion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yikes dude

_ tatterdemalion: in a ragged or decayed state _

Firebringer was falling. The moment Jemilla had struggled to her feet while avoiding chunks of ceiling and wall that burned all around her, she watched as Firebringer made a clumsy grab for Snarl, who had promptly sidefisted her through the wall. And now, she was falling.

Jemilla barely registered what she was doing as she snapped the grappling hook and flung herself out the window. Fuck, they were higher than she thought. In a few swift movements, Jemilla had flashed the grappling hook at Firebringer and used it to tug her close to her body, then she turned around, snapped it out again, and swung them away from the incoming pavement.

However, the chunk of building that the hook had latched itself into loosened and eventually came out after a few moments of the Hero and Firebringer trying to land softly at the ground, causing them to crash awkwardly into the pavement and roll a few feet.

“Holy shit,” Firebringer panted as she began to recover, but Jemilla was watching the burning building. The wall that Firebringer had been punched through had not been just another part of degrading wall, it had been a major pillar that caused the entire building to groan and begin to collapse sideways.

But not onto Firebringer and Jemilla.

No, the building instead missed them altogether, and began to come crashing down onto the quickly scattering crowd of pedestrians, reporters, and officers that had gathered.

Jemilla’s mouth opened in a scream, warning,  _ anything _ , but nothing came out. Most of the people had managed to get out of the way of the collapsing building before it had landed, but many hadn’t.

“Holy shit,” Firebringer repeated, but this time the phrase was out of horror and disbelief at the scene that had just unfolded.

Jemilla watched for a few more moments as people began to swarm the wreckage and pull bodies out, yelling and screaming. She was shaking viciously, and she slowly turned to Firebringer.

“You,” she said in a hushed, quivering voice. Firebringer’s head turned towards Jemilla, mortification clouding her masked features. 

“This is all your fault.”

“What?” Firebringer’s voice was small and laced with dismay. 

Jemilla spoke again, her voice beginning to even out and become gravelly and low. 

“ _ This is all your fault. _ ”

Without another word, Jemilla’s hands outstretched and she lunged for Firebringer.

Anger and terror coursed like hot fire throughout her body, numbing the pain and causing white stars to dance in front of her vision. Firebringer gasped and scrambled to the side, narrowly avoiding Jemilla.

The loose gravel skidded under her feet as she quickly rebounded, her mouth curled into a sneer and eyes narrowed. Firebringer scrambled to her feet, her palms open and facing the Hero.

“Peacemaker, wait-”

“You should have just stayed  _ out of this! _ ” Jemilla swung a wild, out of control punch at Firebringer that she dodged easily.

She swung another, and this time Firebringer found that she didn’t have time to dodge and her arm raised in a block. Jemilla raised her fist to smash it into Firebringer’s nose now that she was in range, but the small, fire-wielding girl ducked and stumbled backwards, panting heavily.

“Please,” she begged, distress thick in her voice, “we need to help those people, I-”

“You aren’t a help to anybody.” Firebringer coughed as she walked slowly back and away from Jemilla. “All you do is cause chaos and make things worse. You are useless, and destructive.”

“ _ Please- _ ”

The Hero kept walking forward and Firebringer stumbled, falling down backwards. She looked up Jemilla, pain and fear written across her face. Something in Jemilla shrieked at her and begged her to stop, but her own pain and fear blinded her.

“You continue to throw yourself into places where you don’t belong and act surprised when things go wrong.” She took a step closer. “You aren’t brave.” Another step. “You aren’t heroic.” Another. “You’re incompetent and  _ worthless _ .” 

Tears streamed down Firebringer’s face from under her mask as she stared up at Jemilla, eyebrows drawn together and mouth slightly opened. Jemilla squatted down so that she was so close to Firebringer that she could practically feel her breath on her skin.

“You’ll never be a Hero.”

_ You’ll never be a Hero. _

Flashes of Molag raced across Jemilla’s mind. The cocky half-grin, her warm embrace. Vaguely, Jemilla remembered hiding in her closet, curled up and pressing herself into the corner. She was sobbing and had just gotten into a fight with Molag. She’d yelled that Molag would never be her mother. She was 12.

Molag had sighed and knelt down close to Jemilla. What was it she had said?

“_You’ll never be a Hero._” Jemilla had looked up and sniffed. “_Not if you don’t come to terms with the fact that there was nothing you could have done to save her._” Jemilla had visibly stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. Molag had continued, her voice slow, “_you gave her peace in her final moments. That was the best you could have done._ _I may be War Master, but you are not me. You are not her. You are something else entirely. You are a Peace Maker._”

Jemilla screamed, her fingers tangling themselves in her hair and fingertips digging into her skull. Pain broke upon her like waves against a shore. It pounded and throbbed without ending, a merciless, slow beat that rinsed her body cold.

Jemilla stood and stepped back from Firebringer, trying desperately to rid the thought of War Master from her mind. She had to  _ move on _ . It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t her-

She hadn’t done  _ anything. _

“Peacemaker, are you okay?” Jemilla’s head shot up, and her gaze fell upon the sight of a bleeding, weak, and frightened girl with terrifyingly powerful abilities and hardly a way to control them, asking if  _ she _ was okay.

“What?” Jemilla was surprised at the hushed, cracking tone of her voice.

“Are you okay?”

Jemilla stared at Firebringer for a few moments. “Am I…?” How was she even asking- no. 

She couldn’t do this.

“You need to leave.”

An objection was obviously beginning to form at the tip of Firebringer’s mouth, but she stopped herself. Jemilla hugged herself tightly as Firebringer stood up, an act that took much effort. She was bleeding from various cuts, her sweater was pretty much burned through and the button up shirt underneath in bad shape, and a deep bruise flowered on the side of her face where Snarl’s fist had connected with her face. Jemilla was sure she looked much worse. Her pain blurred so that it all just felt like the same, agonizing feeling. 

Firebringer glanced at the people and the rubble and the destruction, an inexplicable type of anguish twisting her masked features. Jemilla turned her back to her as she began to leave.

“Peace-” Firebringer started to call out, but was cut off. Jemilla didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to look to see that Firebringer had looked back and was watching her with that numbed yet still so vivid despair.

“You know, you should really be kinder to your friends, little one.” A cold chill rinsed down Jemilla’s spine as a familiar voice echoed lowly in her ears. Jemilla turned around. 

Snarl had caught Firebringer by the throat, and was watching Jemilla with a wide, fanged smile and narrowed yellow eyes.

“You never know when the last time you might speak to them may be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big rip


	23. etiolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well shit

_ etiolate: to cause to become weakened or sickly; drained of vigor or color _

Well shit.

Zazzalil scratched at Snarl’s giant, hairy hand. He wasn’t holding her tightly, but it was just hard enough that Zazzalil was freaking the fuck out. In her blurred vision she could see Peacemaker standing, watching the scene in horror. 

“Let her go,” Peacemaker said lowly, though her voice quavered, “you know this doesn’t concern her.”

Snarl chuckled, a deep sound that rang in Zazzalil’s ears as he replied, “I know. It doesn’t. But I want to see your face when you realize that she won’t burn me.”

This much was true, and Peacemaker exhaled sharply. Zazzalil groaned. She tried to reach down, to pull the fire forward, but it wouldn’t burst through. Her fire had disappeared along with her sense of self worth as Peacemaker had berated her verbally and physically. She just felt empty. And cold.

Snarl continued to speak, “I want to see your face when my grip tightens around her neck.” It did, and Peacemaker jerked forward, but stopped herself at what Zazzalil supposed was a warning look on Snarl’s face. Zazzalil gasped and choked, her vision was now beginning to become spotted with black and pain clawed in her body.

“Does it look familiar?” Zazzalil didn’t know what that part meant, but it obviously struck something in Peacemaker, because the Hero let out a yell and began to rush forward. Snarl laughed, and threw Zazzalil to the side.

She yelled as she felt her body smash forcefully against a large pile of burnt brick and rubble. She groaned, sharp objects stabbing into her body and her face crashing down into a brick. There was a snap, and panic flashed through Zazzalil as she waited for the following pain. It didn’t come, however, and she let out a sigh of relief upon realizing that it wasn’t a bone that had snapped, but rather her mask.

Wait-

“Zazzalil?”

She looked up, her eyes widening when she saw that Peacemaker had started running towards her, but had frozen mid stride.

“No way. _ No _. It- it can’t be you.”

Zazzalil’s vision was beginning to fade into black. Something hot and numb seared through the side of her face, and when her hand reached up to touch, she vaguely noted that a dark, crimson liquid stained her fingertips.

Zazzalil thought that she mumbled, “sorry,” but her mind didn’t really register the action. The only thing that registered was that Peacemaker was now fighting Snarl. Zazzalil’s vision was fading quickly and she blinked slowly, trying and failing at gathering her bearings.

Was this pavement? The pads of Zazzalil’s fingers grazed the floor. No, still rubble. Right. Wait. Rubble? Why? Oh yes, Snarl. 

Fighting Peacemaker. Snarl was fighting Peacemaker. Confused and dazed, Zazzalil’s head snapped up. 

The large, hulking figure was launching blow after blow at the lithe, caped form of Peacemaker. She dodged, dodged. And then she was behind him. Zazzalil blinked, or at least she thought she did. She must have closed her eyes and zoned out for a few moments, because when her eyes reopened, Snarl was gone and the figure of Peacemaker was becoming larger and larger.

She bent down, her face getting close to Zazzalil, and then for one brief moment her vision focused. The Hero was speaking to her, but the words were muffled and thick and the Zazzalil only noticed one thing before her vision snapped into black.

Peacemaker’s mask was broken, half of it shattered and the other half still on.

A weak whisper fell from Zazzalil’s lips before she went limp in the Hero's arms.

“Jemilla?”

And Zazzalil woke up on a couch.

She was in new clothes and pain flashed through her body as she slowly sat up. At least a few cracked ribs, a gash on her head, bruises that she could feel without even needing to see them peppered everywhere.

Zazzalil sighed and groaned, a heavy breath leaving her lungs. She then paused and looked around, suddenly realizing where she was.

“Aunt Emma?”

From down the hall, there were frantic footsteps and then the familiar, lithe figure of Zazzalil’s aunt appears into view, holding a coffee in one hand and a shocked look on her face.

“You’re awake!” She said with a relieved sigh, running to the girl and wrapping her in a hug. Zazzalil flinched and let out a small whimper and Emma immediately stepped back.

“Right, sorry. Forgot about the ribs.”

Zazzalil dismissed it with a wave of her hand, trying to hide the waves of pain that crashed in her body. 

“Why am I here?”

Emma wrung her hands around her mug nervously. “That Hero girl brought you up, the pretty one with the cape. She said she didn’t want to drop you off at the Home because she didn’t know if Ja’Far or Sherrezade knew.”

Zazzalil sighed, remembering Ja’Far and his ominous words and the water bottle. She leaned back into the couch, not wanting to even begin to understand if J.F. knew or not.

“Alright. Thanks for taking me in.”

Emma looked off to the side and frowned. “Zazzalil, she didn’t tell me anything. I don’t even know what ‘if Ja’Far or Sherrezade knew’ means. All I know is that my only niece was dropped off at my house by a beaten Hero with a half broken mask and you have scars and bruises all over your body,” Emma broke off from her ranting, her eyes welling with tears. “Please tell me what’s happened.”

Zazzalil felt hot tears sting her eyes, and she sniffed. “Have you seen the new hero on the TV? The one with the fire powers?” Emma nodded. “That’s me.” Her aunt stiffened visibly, eyes widened.

“W-What?”

“I am pyrokinetic. I have been since I was four. Dad didn’t tell anyone and when he died, I didn’t tell anyone either.”

“Zazzalil…”

Emma’s hand reached out to lay on the young girl’s shoulder, but Zazzalil turned away, hugging herself tightly.

“And I’ve fucked everything up. I thought that when War Master died I’d have a chance to help the new Hero and do something good with my powers. And I thought that maybe…” she paused, feeling the tears that welled in her eyes begin to fall, “I thought that if I did something, that it wouldn’t hurt so much. I can’t- I can’t-”

Zazzalil wiped her eyes and sniffed. Emma watched her with her eyebrows drawn together, the shock on her face barely concealed. 

“I can’t control them. When I’m angry or sad or scared the fire just blazes in me and if I don't bring it out it just hurts… so much.” She let out a hiccuping sob and rested her forehead in her palms. “So much. So when the opportunity arose, I thought I could take it. But the Hero, Peacemaker, she hated me. I couldn’t understand why but she _ hated _ me. And it was complicated because as Zazzalil, she liked me. Really liked me. And I really liked her. But as Firebringer, this side of her that I’d never seen comes out.”

All of a sudden, Zazzalil remembered the moments before she’d blacked out, when Peacemaker, in her broken mask, had picked Zazzalil up and she’d seen her face. Those eyes. That look.

Jemilla.

Another sob racked Zazzalil’s body. Fuck, it hurt to cry. Cracked ribs were no joke, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“And I _ liked her _. So much. Maybe even more than that. And I just found out that she’s this girl that I liked and that liked me as Zazzalil. Oh god, it’s so confusing. I don’t understand how it could have gotten to this point. It all got out of hand. I fucked up so bad, Auntie Emma. So bad.”

She leaned into Emma’s arm and her aunt sighed lightly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling the young girl in tighter. “It’s alright. You’re going to be okay.”

“No, you- you don’t understand. Peace- Jemilla was right. I should have just left it. But I just had to keep showing up, didn’t I? I just _ had to _.”

“You did what you thought was right. You-”

“I killed people.” Emma’s mouth snapped shut and she blinked in surprise as Zazzalil took a shaky breath. “I got people killed, I mean. Snarl put bombs in a building, and I fell right into his trap, and then it collapsed. On people. Innocent people.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Emma tried to reassure, but her voice was strained and she was holding back tears.

“I should have.”

Zazzalil wipes away her tears and inhaled shakily. Her entire body hurt, and though she knew that in a couple of days it would heal, she just wanted to sleep. Emma seemed to read this from the pained expression in her niece’s eyes and she stood slowly.

“Let me make you food and call the Home. You should get some rest, I’ll wake you up when it’s done.”

Zazzalil nodded and lay on the couch as Emma disappeared into the kitchen of her tiny apartment. A few stray tears slithered across her face as she thought back to the events of the day. She had fucked up. _ Really _ fucked up. She would be surprised if she could ever face Jemilla again. A different kind of pain blossomed in her chest.

Agony. Grief.

Loss.

Zazzalil’s breath momentarily caught in her throat and her eyes fluttered shut. Slowly, her pained, deep breaths began to even out and the chaos of her mind faded out.

And then there was a knock on the door.

Zazzalil didn’t even open her eyes, just listened attentively as Emma’s footsteps made their way to the door and it swung open.

“Hello?”

A voice with a thick, Spanish accent responded. “_ Hola _ . My name is Steelskinner, but you can call me Taz. You must be _ Señora _ Perkins. I need your niece to come with me.”

Emma blinked, then looked over at Zazzalil, who was slowly sitting up. 

Emma sputtered, “well I-”

Taz shouldered her way in the door, and Zazzalil was met with the sight of a small, extremely toned woman dressed in army pants and a white tank top. Her black hair was cut short and spiked at the top, a red bandana wrapped around her head. Zazzalil blinked at the sight of a mask on Taz’s face.

“Who…?”

“The Tribe wants to see you.”

—

_ “Did that go well?” _

_ “Well shit went down. I can tell you that much.” _

_ “But the warehouse was destroyed.” _

_ “Along with everything in it.” _

_ “That’s good.” _

_ “It is.” _

_ “How close is Whisper Master to finding the next location?” _

_ “It’s starting to become foggy, but we have time.” _

_ “How much time?” _

_ “It’s hard to say, but not much. They’ll be coming for us soon.” _

_ “So the best thing to do is to be prepared for when they do.” _

_ “We’ll be waiting.” _

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw there are three Laurens talking to each other


	24. cimmerian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A n g s t but also half assed plot but a n g s t

_ cimmerian: very dark; gloomy _

Jemilla was slumped in her hallway, listening to the clock on the wall tick monotonously. She didn’t want to think, and barely could. Her mind spun with flashes of the fight, and every time it paused on the image of Zazzalil, laying half-unconscious on a pile of rubble, her mask broken off and blood streaming from a nasty gash on her face.

Tears streamed down her face that she didn’t bother to wipe, a blank, defeated look stretched over her features.

She barely registered when there was a knock on the door. Jemilla grunted with effort as she sat up and languidly walked to the door. 

“Hey, Peacemaker!”

Jemilla sighed at the sight of a younger hero, masked but dressed out of costume in an unzipped Tribe hoodie over a blue tank top and a short, black skirt.

“I’m unmasked, Mooneater. You can call me Jemilla.”

The Hero laughed and flicked her long, black hair over her shoulder. Her painted fingernails reached up and peeled off the mask to reveal wide, obsidian eyes.

“Alright then, Jemilla, I’ll unmask.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

“Long day?”

Jemilla let out a dry laugh that viciously lacked in amusement and leaned on the door. “You heard?”

Princess smiled, but in similar form, it lacked in warmth. “It’s the Tribe, what did you expect?” Jemilla shrugged. “Where’s Firebringer?” Princess looked behind Jemilla’s shoulder and the curly-haired Hero followed Princess’s gaze behind her.

“What, you think she’s here?”

“It would seem like a very ‘Jemilla Peacemaker’ thing for you to do,” Princess mused. Jemilla looked uncomfortably at her feet.

“The situation got complicated. I doubted she’d want to wake up in pain and see  _ my _ face. I dressed her wounds after escaping Snarl and brought her to her Aunt’s.”

Princess shrugged, the smile returned to her face. “I’ll send Taz on it. She’s in town you know, visiting-”

“I don’t really care. Did you come here for Firebringer or is there something else? I feel like they wouldn’t have sent you if there wasn’t anything else.”

“Of course there’s something else,” Princess said with a snicker. “The Tribe wants to see you.”

Jemilla let out a loud sigh, her middle finger and thumb rubbing her temples. “I can’t deal with you guys right now.”

“Oh it’s not just us. Whisper Master wants to see you.”

Jemilla groaned. “Cynthia can shove it up her ass. I have a headache and multiple broken ribs, I have to make sure this giant gash on my shoulder doesn’t get infected, and my lungs are still filled with ash.”

Princess shrugged, the smirk not leaving her face. “You don’t really have a choice. Besides, Angel Master is at Headquarters right now. He can heal you up.”

“But I don’t  _ want _ to go. I want to lay in my bed, and go to school on Monday, and pretend like none of this happened.”

Princess’s smile faded and realization dawned upon her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I forgot that you and War Master were… close.” Jemilla scoffed. Princess tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie, her jaw clenched. “Jemilla… I’m not really supposed to be telling you this but-”

She cut herself off. Jemilla looked at Princess expectantly.

“But?”

“War Master wasn’t going to Go Home.”

“What?”

“She was going to return to the Tribe, be an active part of the Council. Before she’d met you, she’d told Hatchetfield that she was staying a year because she felt… alone. And I know that it’s a very ‘Hero’ thing to feel that way, most of us  _ are _ orphans. I’m no exception, I was taken from my parents shortly after I was born.”

Jemilla shifted on the balls of her feet. “By the Tribe?”

“No. Traffickers. Corrupt hospital nurses, oblivious first-time parents, you know the drill.” Jemilla nodded despite the fact that no, she did not know the drill. Princess continued anyway.

“I was bought by a super rich guy that just got meaner the older I got. When I was five and started teleporting, some of the servants helped to keep me hidden until I was eight and the man, we called him the Sultan, found out and realized just how much money he could make with a kid with superpowers in his hands. The servants hid me and the Tribe found me, obviously.” Jemilla opened her mouth to speak, but Princess cut her off. “And no. I haven’t tried to find my parents. You know why?”

Jemilla shook her head, forcing back the small tears that began to prick at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s because I’m a fucking Hero, Jemilla. You know what we do. You know the cost of it. We’re surrounded by death, by destruction.”

A few tears slithered down Jemilla’s face and she shook her head lightly. “I’m trying- I’m trying to move on. To forget her. I just-”

“That’s not the point.” Jemilla looked up. “Molag wasn’t going to stay. And then she met you. You changed everything. Molag only agreed to become Hatchetfield’s Hero for the time being because she knew she needed to take you in and to teach and help you. To love you.

“Don’t try to forget her. To move on and never look back. All that’ll do is repress your rage so that it bubbles up at inconvenient times.” Princess rested a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. “I can’t tell you how to grieve, everybody grieves in different ways. But Molag loved you, Jemilla.”

A gasping sob racked through Jemilla’s body. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready. I wasn’t ready when she died and I’m not ready now.”

“She wouldn’t have died if she thought she wasn’t leaving Hatchetfield in capable hands.” The other Hero didn’t respond. Princess sighed. “Come on, go get some extra clothes and your mask. I’ll wait.”

Jemilla turned and swiftly walked up the stairs, rubbing her eyes as she did.

She missed Molag.

Regret had been clawing at her stomach like a wild, untamed monster long before she’d dropped Zazzalil off at her Aunt’s and was sending unwelcome memories into her mind.

The hulking shape of Snarl outlined black against every white flash of lightning.

The sickening crack of Molag’s neck.

Snarl’s rumbling laugh.

Jemilla’s forearms wrapped around her stomach and she suddenly felt like she had to throw up as she stuffed clothes into a bag. She stopped in front of a mirror and eyed herself. Her oversized Tribe t-shirt had been tucked into her ripped, high waisted jeans and Molag’s leather jacket was over it. 

Jemilla sighed as her gaze trailed up to her face. No doubt about it, despite the outfit she looked like shit. Her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, and misery hung like a cloud over her figure, casting dark, gloomy shadows across her dark, gloomy face. 

Despair did not suit her. 

Whatever, nothing she could do about it now. Jemilla flipped the collar of the jacket up and smoothed her mask onto her face as she trudged down the stairs. Princess was leaning against the door frame, texting away.

Jemilla eyed her as she neared the bottom of the stairs. The girl had been raised by the Tribe and at Tribe Headquarters, and hadn’t even been assigned a town to protect. It made sense, most young Heroes were thrown into the Hero title without really getting a choice. As far as Jemilla was aware, Princess had been playing a Hermes-type role and hardly went out on high-danger missions. 

It would change once she was older, Jemilla was sure, the girl was only sixteen. But for now, the Hero couldn’t help but envy the carefree nature of the raven-haired girl leaning nonchalantly against the door frame. 

“You ready?” Princess asked without looking up from her phone, and Jemilla hurriedly looked away.

“Yeah.”

She tucked her phone into her back pocket and raised one hand out towards Jemilla. “Then let’s be off, Peacemaker,” Princess said with a smile as her other hand stuck her mask on her face.

Jemilla’s hand reached slowly out, but before it grazed the other Hero’s palm, she stopped and cringed away. “I hate doing this,” she muttered, and then slowly let the pads of her fingertips graze Princess’s skin. The raven-haired Hero’s hand wrapped suddenly around her own, and then there was a blinding flash of light and the two were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm


	25. selcouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles that make sense? Never met her-

_ selcouth: unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous _

“Who did you say you were again?”

Taz’s head flinched sideways from her place looking outside the train window, but she didn’t look over at Zazzalil.

“My name is Taz.”

“No, your Hero name,” Zazzalil asked, and her Aunt squeezed her hand from her place sitting beside her.

“Steelskinner.”

“And you…?”

Zazzalil trailed off and the Hero let out a light sigh, finally turning to face the girl.

“You wouldn’t have heard of me because I’m not stationed anywhere in America. I’m not stationed anywhere. I’m in a  _ Pandilla _ . A Squad. Like a troop of sorts.”

Zazzalil and Emma exchanged a lost glance, and it was then when Zazz realized her aunt was just as uneducated about Hero life and Tribe as she was. Taz caught the look, and let out a longer sigh.

“ _ Cristo _ , have you  _ idiotas _ been living under a rock?

Emma shrugged helplessly as Zazzlil muttered, “no, just incompetent.”

“There’s six of us, and we belong to the Tribe but are sent on international missions. You’ve heard of Mindmelter and Brawnbasher,  _ sí? _ ”

“Of course.”

“Owen and Curt travel around, are sent on missions and stuff. A Squad. A small one, but a Squad. We are one of those.”

“Then why are you in Hatchetfield?”

Taz shrugged. “Our Commander, Ironender, got hurt and so we’re temporarily disbanded while he gets himself back in shape. He’s working as a long-term substitute calculus teacher as a form of rehab.”

“Weird,” Zazzalil said with a sigh as she slumped down in the train seat, letting her dark gaze flick over the train. Their car was empty, and the three of them sat in the far corner watching blurs of trees zoom past.

“Not weird,” Taz snapped and both Emma and Zazzalil looked up at her with wide eyes. “He’s tough, just a little shaken. Don’t you underestimate him, I will end you.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Zazzalil said. She sighed, looking out the window.

“I really know nothing about the Tribe. I never did any research, never took the time to learn the system.”

Taz shrugged, seeming unsurprised. “Most people don’t want to know. It’s heavy shit. But, you’ll be fine. You’ll have plenty of time to learn when we get there.”

“Where, exactly, is there?” Emma asked.

“Tribe Headquarters,” Taz responded, “Whisper Master wants to see this  _ cabrona _ ASAP but from the shape of her we’ll probably take you to see Doc Angel.”

“Whisper Master wants to see  _ me? _ ” Zazzalil asked incredulously. She didn’t know much about the Tribe and the way they did things, but everybody knew about the Masters. When Taz nodded she shook her head. “And then who’s this Doc Angel?”

“Angel Master. He’ll get you fixed up.”

Zazzalil suddenly felt nauseous. “Another Master? Who am I going to see, the entire Tribe Council? This is insane. I’m just a kid with fire powers. I can’t- I can’t even control them.”

At this, Taz visibly stiffened. “ _ Qué? _ You’re kidding.”

Zazzalil felt her cheeks redden and she sunk lower in her seat as she shook her head, ignoring Emma’s concerned stare from beside her. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone? We can help with that.”

“You can?” Zazzalil asked, avoiding the first question in fear of not being able to come up with a decent answer.

“Of course we can. There are suppressant pills for  _ niñas _ like you, I don’t have any with me but they’re supposed to help the more painful cases.”

Zazz felt dizzy, “no way.”

“And you just learn. We teach you to control your powers. You’ve just been making it harder on yourself.”

Zazz sniffed, “did you have to take the pills? What did they feel like?”

Taz shook her head, “no,  _ amiga _ , my skin is invincible. I can take a shit ton of blows before I even start to feel it, I never needed no pills.” The younger girl groaned.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Me either,” Emma said, and Zazzalil glanced at her aunt. Her face was written with concern and guilt, and Zazzlil cringed slightly.

“I’m sorry, Auntie Emma. I should have told you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

It was obviously not. 

“No, I should have. But dad always said, always said that I should never tell anyone. And after he died I just. I think that I believed that if I just ignored it it would go away. But it didn’t. It just got worse.” Emma reached her arm around Zazzalil’s shoulders and rested her forehead on her.

“I’m so sorry, Zazzalil. I’m so sorry.”

The younger girl wished she could cry, but she was done crying, so she just tightly hugged her aunt and squeezed her eyes shut right.

“Hate to interrupt the moment, but we’re here,” Taz’s voice cut in.

Zazzalil looked up, but the moment she did the view of the train vanished into black.

“Are we in a tunnel?”

“Underground. They don’t want you to see the inner workings. Come on.” Taz stood up the moment the train grinded to a stop and tentatively, Emma and Zazzalil followed. Taz lead them out the doors and then up the only exit, a flight of stairs. Zazzalil squinted the moment Taz stuffed an ID card into a read and punched in a number, causing the heavy sliding door to slowly open and for a bright light to shine through.

“Neither of you are masked, and in the entry hall that’s a little weird, so just look at the ground,  _ buena? _ ”

Emma and Zazzalil nodded, and the young girl felt her aunt’s hand slip into her own and squeeze tightly.

“I’m not giving you a tour,” Taz began as they entered the main hall. Zazzalil tried not keep her gaze wandering. It seemed like a regular white building, except everybody walking around was in either an all black getup of a black suit, shirt, and pants or a skirt, or in a Hero outfit. All wore masks. Zazzalil wanted to look around to see if she would recognize any of the Heroes, but the moment she looked up she was suddenly aware of dozens of gazes burning into her and her eyes snapped downward.

“We’ll take you Doc Angel’s first to get those ribs fixed and that  _ feo _ gash on your head fixed up. Just follow me.”

Emma and Zazzalil did just that, and they soon came upon a large door. Taz stopped before she opened it, her hand resting on the handle.

“Quick warning, Angel Master is a great healer, but an asshole.”

Emma and Zazzalil exchanged a glance as Taz pushed the door open. A man’s voice was talking, and as the three of them entered the room, Zazz was met with an odd sight.

A tall, masked, brown haired man sat on the edge of the counter of what seemed to be an elaborate, expensive doctors office. He wore a black suit over a white dress shirt and tie, an outfit not unlike the ones the others in all black had been wearing. If anything, he was dressed in a normal business suit and would have seemed like a normal business man if not for the Hero mask and the sickness mask hooked around his ears.

The odd part about the scene was that the man seemed to be talking to a large, red bug. It stood on two legs and reached the other man’s chest. Zazzalil heard Emma gasp and take a small step back, and the man in the suit looked over at the three of them.

“Steelskinner.” He acknowledged with a smile, and the bug looked over. Zazzalil watched with her breath caught in her throat as the form of the bug twisted and grew, morphing into a tall, dark haired man.

“Hey, Taz,” the bug-turned-man said with a lopsided smile.

“Bug?” Taz said, “what’re you doing here?”

“Well I’m getting healed,” he said, motioning to the suited-man. “And picking up some T. Cynthia sent me on and February a duo mission after Up. What have you been up to?”

Taz motioned to Zazzalil and Emma, as if that was the answer Bug was looking for. “We’re here to see Angel.”

Angel, the suited man, looked at Bug. “We’re just about done here, right?”

Bug nodded, “that we are. I’ll see you, Taz.” He said as he walked past them, Emma and Zazzalil quickly moving out of the way for the shape-shifter to pass. Taz nodded at him and he left.

“How can I help you, Steelskinner? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with these two young ladies.”

Zazzalil and Emma stepped up to shake Angel’s hand as Taz spoke.

“We’ve got a fire-wielder and her aunt.”

“Aunt?” Angel mused as he shook Emma’s hand. “I would have thought sister.”

Emma chuckled and looked to the side as she shook his head. “Thank you, uh, I’m Emma. And this is my niece, Zazzalil.” Angel shook Zazzalil’s hand, nodding.

“Emma, Zazzalil. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hng


	26. nadir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cnthia

_ nadir: the lowest point, point of greatest adversity or fear _

Jemilla paced up and down in the hallway, her gaze strenuously avoiding the large, wooden door that she paced in front of. Princess was on her phone, tapping away and leaning against the wall. 

“Calm down,” she said without looking up, and Jemilla shot her a glare.

“Cynthia scares the shit out of me,” she mumbled, her hands stuffed into her pockets.

“She scares the shit out of everyone.”

Jemilla stopped in front of Princess, who finally looked up from her phone with an expectant eyebrow raised.

“She doesn’t scare the shit out of you,” Jemilla said. Princess paused, thinking about this for a moment, then she smiled.

“Well you can’t blame me. Some might argue that Cynthia raised me.”

“That’s honestly terrifying to think about.”

Princess chuckled, and suddenly the large door swung open, revealing a stout figure.

“Hey, Susan.” Jemilla said with a small sigh, her head ducking slightly.

“It’s been a while, Peacemaker.” Jemilla nodded and looked back at Princess, giving her a little wave.

“See ya.”

“Good luck,” she replied with a smile. Jemilla nodded and turned back around, following Susan into the room. 

She felt a shiver run down her spine and she curled tightly into her leather jacket the moment she entered the room. It felt ten degrees cooler, and she immediately spotted Cynthia sitting on her table, smoking a cigarette as she flipped through a folder. She wore her signature blazer and skirt, and was masked.

“You can leave, Susan,” she said without looking up from the papers, and Jemilla cast a helpless glance at Susan, who shrugged and left without another word.

“So,” Jemilla said, clearing her throat, “how are you, Whisper Master?”

She slowly stood, her gaze still not leaving the papers. “If we’re going to be honest, Peacemaker, not the greatest. One of my best friends just died, killed by an extremely deadly Rogue that is on the loose, and now there’s this Firebringer girl,” Cynthia finally looked up, her shielded gaze meeting Jemilla’s, “and that’s all just in Hatchetfield. There’s something going on that my whispers have barely touched on out of Hatchetfield, and I’m stressed as all hell. But what else is new?”

Jemilla inhaled shakily. “I-I’m sorry. I’m trying to get it all sorted out, but it’s…” she paused for a moment, momentarily at a loss for words, “hard.”

Cynthia snuffed her cigarette out in a crystal ashtray, leaning against the table top.

“We wouldn’t be called Heroes if what we did wasn’t hard, Peacemaker.” Jemilla nodded, staring at the floor. Cynthia sighed. “But it’s unfair. I agree. I’m sorry about Molag. Her death was…”

“Hard?”

Cynthia let out a short, barking laugh that was tinted with bitterness. “Hard. On all of us. But on you, I can only imagine. I’m sorry.”

Jemilla shrugged, tucking her hands tightly in her armpits and leaning against the wall. “So am I.”

Cynthia cleared her throat and turned her gaze once more down to the folder. “Firebringer made her first appearance on the 25th of March in a broadcast on the same day you debuted as Hatchetfield’s upcoming Hero, yes?” Jemilla nodded. “She is a violet pyrokinetic and estimated to be seventeen years of age, and has stayed off of the Tribe’s radar for her entire life up until now. It’s my job to locate and track down children with powers, and it’s a job that I feel comfortable saying I’m damn good at. Yet, seventeen years and this girl stayed hidden from me, her identity a secret until the last battle with Snarl.”

Jemilla nodded in affirmation of the information. Cynthia looked at her. “And, wouldn’t you know it, she goes to your school. So, tell me about her. As Class President I expect that there is information you can share.”

Jemilla opened her mouth, then closed it, the feelings that brewed within her severely contradicting themselves. A lingering bitterness for Firebringer, a painstaking yearning for Zazzalil.

A frown tugged at her lips as she remembered Firebringer, saving Jemilla when he’d knocked her out, her flaming hands slamming into his wrists when he’d made a lunge for Jemilla, her unscorched body racing through a collapsing, burning building after an unconscious Jemilla slung over Snarl’s shoulder. 

She thought of Zazzalil, on the first night they’d met with Jemilla as Peacemaker, blushing and smiling when their lips had touched.

Subconsciously, her fingertips grazed her lips and a light blush warmed her cheeks. Oh god, she’d been an  _ asshole _ . Terrible, truly terrible. Guilt flushed through her body and a knot formed in her throat.

“Zazzalil is…”

“Is?”

Jemilla looked up at Cynthia. “She’s good. A good person. I didn’t see it before, when I knew her as Firebringer. She’s a bit reckless, and stubborn. But, I was an even bigger dick. She’s brave, and works tirelessly.”

Cynthia nodded, “and as Zazzalil?”

A small smile traced Jemilla’s face, “as Zazzalil she’s kind and compassionate, a bit of a loner but funny. Her grades aren’t the best but she tries.”

“Do you two know each other well?”

“We went,” Jemilla cut herself off and coughed awkwardly, “we went on a few—two—dates.” Cynthia’s eyebrows raised and she inhaled slowly.

“I see. And these are undoubtedly the ‘complications’ you mentioned?” Jemilla nodded.

“I haven’t spoken to her since we found out each other’s identities, and I don’t even know if she remembers seeing me, she was so out of it. She whispered my name when I ran to her with my broken mask and blacked out immediately after.”

“And Snarl? Where did he get bombs from?”

Jemilla shuffled her feet. “I don’t know. He was gone when I turned around with her in my arms.” A tight frown crossed Cynthia’s lips. “Zazzalil was bleeding heavily from a giant gash on her head, and I deemed her and all the other people who’d just gotten slaughtered or injured by a crumpling building a little bit more important.”

“Than a cunning, bloodthirsty maniac who’d just crashed a building onto innocent people?” Jemilla’s mouth snapped shut and Cynthia sighed. “It’s fine, Peacemaker. The families of those lost and the medical bills of the survivors will all be compensated for, and you tried your hardest.”

“I should have…” Jemilla trailed off. She didn’t know  _ what _ she should have done. It had seemed the right decision in the moment.

“You see?” Jemilla looked up at Cynthia, not even trying to hide the distraught and confusion she was sure were clear on her face. “This shit happens all the fucking time. Most of the time you can’t stop it, and when you realize this, your life because a hell of a lot easier. What you did when you did it was probably the best you could have done, Peacemaker. No matter how hard other people doubt you, every time, you only break when you start to doubt yourself.”

Jemilla stared at the floor, her eyes wide. She’d told herself she wouldn’t cry again, but hot tears clouded her vision and stung her eyes.

“I was there,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That night… I followed Molag. She didn’t know I was there. And I watch- I watched him kill her. I was so scared, and I just kept waiting for her to bounce back and kill him because… because how the hell am  _ I _ supposed to be able to kill him if  _ she _ couldn’t even do it? I’m not like her. I’m not that strong.”

Cynthia stared at Jemilla, who was avoiding eye contact and her watching tears fall to the floor, wiping them away with the sleeve of Molag’s jacket.

“Oh kid,” she whispered softly, lighting another cigarette and shaking her head slowly, “you can beat him,  _ because _ you aren’t Molag.”

Jemilla let out a half-laugh, half-hiccuping sob, her wavy curls bouncing around her face as she shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly the office’s phone went off. Cynthia sighed.

“Sorry. I’ll give you a moment,” she said, before grabbing the phone and leaving to a side room. Jemilla sighed and slumped against the wall, not bothering to clear the tears from her blurred vision. She wanted to see Zazzalil. Wanted to apologize. She could hear Cynthia through the closed door.

“ _ Well, does it  _ sound  _ like I give two flying fucks about what Space Master wants? No, the correct answer is that it doesn’t. I do not care if his dad is a Master, Junior a little shit and he’s not welcome to do whatever the hell he wants to do at the Headquarters. No- no you misunderstand, it’s not a big ‘fuck you’ to you, it’s a big ‘fuck you’ to Space Master. Jeezus.” _

Jemilla quickly dried her face as she heard Cynthia sigh and hang up the phone, then quickly walk back into the room.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

“Here,” she handed Jemilla a key as she typed quickly away on her phone, “you’re staying until we can get your situation sorted out, I’ve upgraded your status and you will find your room number on the key. You know how the Headquarter’s work. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Ah, Whisper Master?” Cynthia looked up sharply. “I’m going to get Hatchetfield sorted out.”

“I know.”

“And if you need assistance with anything else…” she trailed off, but the message was clear. A tired yet sharp look clouded Cynthia’s eyes.

“We might just need it, Peacemaker. There’s something going on, we’ll need all the help we can get.” Jemilla gulped. “Until then, relax for a bit. Spar, tour the gardens, swim. And keep your nose out of trouble.”

Unable to speak, Jemilla nodded, staring at Cynthia as she continued typing. After a moment, the Master paused, then looked up at the young Hero with one eyebrow raised, “well, what are you waiting for? Go.”

“Oh, right,” Jemilla fumbled over her words, mumbled a “thank you,” and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog is confused and I don’t know why should I kiss her head


	27. cicatrize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you pronounce cicatrize tf

_ cicatrize: to find healing by the process of forming scars _

Zazzalil felt like she was floating. Her eyes were half-shut and spots of white danced lazily in her vision. Paul, Angel Master, had given her some pills, and after a few moments Zazzalil’s entire world slowed down. She could hear voices from inside the room (or maybe they were outside?) but they were muffled against her ears, echoey and indistinguishable.

There was only one, clear word that stood suddenly out against the rest.

“Done.”

Suddenly, Zazzalil was snapped to attention, the effects of the pill wearing off as if by the snap of a few fingers. She opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh, overhanging light that blared in her face, and sat up, only to find Emma and Paul staring at her expectantly, Taz having left the room earlier.

“How do you feel?” Emma asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

Zazzalil blinked, suddenly aware that the aching pain in her chest and the stabbing throbbing in her head had disappeared. “I’m fine, I-  _ holy shit! _ ”

Suddenly, as if in a flash, a white hot pain seared through her body. Zazzalil’s mouth hung open and her vision immediately blurred with tears as the searing pain enveloped her senses.

“What’s happening?” She vaguely made out Emma asking worriedly, and a pair of cold hands wrapped around her own.

“Oof, shit. It’ll pass in a few moments.”

And, after a few excruciating moments, the pain was gone as quickly as it had appeared and Zazzalil was left squeezing tightly onto Emma’s hands and gasping for air.

“Wh-What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Zazzalil panted.

“My powers.”

“I thought you  _ healed _ people?”

She looked up at Paul, who, to be honest, seemed like he could give zero shits. “Yes, I speed up the chemical processes in people’s bodies and balance out the opposing reactions, naturally your body is going to attack whatever I’m doing and see it as a threat. It hurts. That’s what the pill was for.”

Zazzalil’s breath began to slow and Emma looked at Paul with thinly concealed rage. “Well ‘the pill’ obviously didn’t work!”

“Oh no, trust me, it worked,” the Master replied with an abrupt laugh, “what your niece just felt was what I like to call the aftershocks. Like with earthquakes. I managed to numb her for the actual earthquake, my procedure, but how her body reacts after that is entirely out of my hands. Obviously, her reaction was a little more extreme, but it only lasted for a few moments and you are now entirely healed.”

Zazzalil lightly touched where the gash on her head had been, and when she felt nothing her head flicked to the side to look in the mirror that hung on the wall. Sure enough, the wound was gone completely, not even leaving a scar.

“Wow,” Zazzalil said, an impressed tone lacing through her voice that managed to calm down a still fuming Emma. 

Paul smirked as he stripped off his gloves and began to clean up his station, “thanks.”

“And you do this all the time?”

“I do,” he replied, “before I was a Master, when my name was Lightlacer, I would mostly do my work out in the field, sort of like a Hero paramedic. Most of the time I didn’t have the pills, the stock is so little and I was rarely given replacements. Most people had to undergo my treatment without a numbing agent, and it’s a pain that is a thousand times worse than the aftershocks.”

Zazzalil shuddered, not wanting to imagine what that would feel like. “Oh.”

Emma squeezed her niece’s hand once more before letting it go, opening her mouth to speak when suddenly the door swung open without warning and a small, masked woman in a blazer and skirt stood impatiently in the doorway.

“Whisper Master,” Paul acknowledged in surprise, “I must say that I’m surprised to see you. What can I do for you?”

The Master chucked her cigarette in the bin outside the office before stepping inside and Zazzalil, despite her gaping, found a hard time believing that  _ this _ was the renowned Whisper Master.

“I’m here to speak to the pyrokinetic,” she said. Paul nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed.

“We just finished up here, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” He looked at Emma with a raised eyebrow. “Why don’t you let me get you some coffee for a few moments?”

Emma looked worriedly at Zazzalil, but the young girl waved her hand dismissively and her aunt nodded. “Alright,” she said softly, “I’ll be back soon.”

Whisper Master watched wordlessly as Paul opened the door for Emma, following her out and closing the door the moment she exited.

“Nice lady,” the Master said, and Zazzalil blinked in reply. “So, you’re her? Firebringer?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Whisper Master nodded, her gaze running up and down Zazzalil. The young girl sniffed and shifted in her seat, her dark gaze cast downwards. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Zazzalil didn’t answer for a moment, and then burst forward with a sudden question. “Am I in trouble?”

A small smile crept on the Master’s face. “Not with me, no.”

“Then why am I here?”

“We wanted to talk to you.”

“Yes, but  _ why? _ ”

Whisper Master laughed dryly, “you’re certainly to the point, aren’t you?” Zazzalil opened her mouth to answer, but the Master continued, “it’s fine, it’s an admirable quality in the Hero world. Zazzalil, I’m here to… get to know you.”

“Get to know me?” Zazzalil repeated.

“Yes. Get to know you. I want to know about your family, about your powers. I want to know how you stayed off of the Tribe’s radar with such strong abilities and I want to know what prompted you to use them when you did.”

Zazzalil blinked, “oh, well, I see. There’s not really much to tell. We discovered I had powers when I was four, and since then my dad had done everything in his power to keep them hidden from the outside world.”

“Why?”

Zazzalil shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know. I never asked, though I always supposed it had something to do with the dangers of being a Hero and the dangers of having powers in a world full of Rogues.”

“It’s understandable. Where’s your father now?”

Zazzalil looked at the ground. “Dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it was a long time ago. He was killed by Trunkell, and my mom died when I was young. I live in a group foster home, I like it there.”

“Congratulations. That was very lucky,” Whisper Master remarked, and Zazzalil sniffed and nodded.

“Ever since my dad died I’ve kept them hidden. I guess I was scared. I don’t really know of what, but it was a fear implemented in me from a young age and if anything it grew when he died.”

“But?”

“But… I don’t know. Hiding my fire hurts. It hurts like hell. I have trouble controlling it, and I need to light at least a few fingers on fire a day to keep it at bay. I think after War Master died, I just sort of saw an opportunity open up. An opportunity to not be in pain all the time, and to help people while doing it. It just seemed like a win in my book.”

“I understand,” Whisper Master mused. “That was very brave of you.”

“Thanks, I guess. Of course now, I’ve fucked everything up with Jemilla,” Zazzalil froze, then quickly corrected herself, “with Peacemaker.”

“So you do know.” Zazz nodded. “Then tell me, what did you think of being Firebringer?”

“It was… tough. Mentally crumbling. Physically devastating. One challenge after another, all getting increasingly harder.” Whisper Master cocked her head at Zazzalil, who let her gaze drop to the floor and a guilty look fall over her face. “I loved it.”

A breath chuckle escaped the Master, and she nodded. “A familiar story. Zazzalil, I have a few things for you.”

“For me?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“R-Right.”

“Follow me.” She opened the door and Zazzalil narrowed her eyes.

“What about my aunt?”

“Angel Master will keep her busy. Come on now, don’t be a slow ass.”

With a shrug, Zazzalil slid off the medical bed, following Whisper Master.

“I have a few questions actually,” she said from behind the Master as she ignored the stares of passing people.

“Shoot.”

“What’s the whole identity system around here? Almost every Hero I’ve met so far has introduced themselves with their real name and I’m confused.”

Whisper Master shrugged, “usually it depends on the Hero. Most of the Heroes in the Tribe know each other by name, but don’t know the person behind the real name. Often times it’s an age thing, at some point being a Hero is so dominating over your life that your Hero identity is morphed and becomes a part of your non-Hero identity, and so a name becomes just that; a name.”

“I see,” Zazzalil said. “Things would have been a lot easier if Jemilla had said, ‘hi, my name is Peacemaker but you can call me Jemilla’ when we’d first met. The circumstances were just inconvenient. If I hadn’t known her in school, if she hadn’t hated me the moment she met Firebringer… everything would have been different.”

“Different doesn’t necessarily mean better,” Whisper Master remarked. Zazzalil blinked, but didn’t respond until the Master had lead her to another sliding metal door that needed her ID and fingerprint.

“Try not to remember what you see,” Whisper Master warned as the door slid open and the two walked through, “and take this.” She held out a lanyard with a guest pass ID hooked to the end.

“Holy shit,” Zazzalil whispered as she looked around the room and put the lanyard on over her head. The room was bustling with predominantly unmasked people in white lab coats looking down at clipboards or iPads. Displays and test rooms lined the walls of the long, giant room, all filled with suits and gadgets.

“Holy shit is right,” Whisper Master said with a snort, “ah, here we go. Hello, Barb.”

A small, blonde woman with a pink blazer under her white lab coat scampered up to the two, clutching a clipboard tightly to her chest.

“Whisper Master, a pleasure as always. And you must be Zazzalil, I’ve heard all about you,” she talked quickly and excitedly as she shook Zazzalil’s hand.

“It seems that most people have,” the girl replied and a high-pitched giggle escaped from Barb’s lips.

“Come, come. Let’s show you around.”

She lead the two through the throng of distracted people, and Zazzalil was grateful for the lack of questioning eyes burning holes through her.

“First off, we have your mask. Usually custom designs are requested, but in the case of a fire proof mask the design is different,” Barb said excitedly as she snatched a mask that lay in a velvet box on one of the lab tables.

“Cool,” Zazzalil replied, a comment immediately followed by, “wait, what?” as she was handed the mask. She turned it over in her hand, eyes wide. The material was soft, it was certainly not the chafing, cheap plastic one she’d bought from Walmart, and the customary deep black gave way to a dark purple around the edges, an added touch almost barely noticeable.

“I love this,” Zazzalil whispered, “but I don’t know what I’ll need it for.”

“We’re not done just yet,” Barb interjected once more, “come on.” And once again, the three set off deeper down into the room, this time stopping in front of a display separated from them by glass. Zazzalil blinked, her eyes wide as she peered at what was in it.

“It’s just a skin suit for now,” Barb explained, “of course you’re going to need to tell us what you want your outfit to look like but this will do for now so that you have something under your clothes if they all burn off. There’s a rack of fire-proof things for you to pick through just to add to your closet later. Test ready?”

Zazzalil watched with a half-opened mouth, unable to speak as Barb tapped a few buttons into a keyboard hooked up the glass display and long barrels slowly rose from the ground, pointed at the black skin suit behind the glass.

“Ready for this?” Barb asked with barely concealed excitement, and with another pressed button, fire came spiraling suddenly out of the ends of the long barrels, blasting directly into the suit. However, instead of catching, the fire dispersed and disappeared against the skin suit. Zazzalil inhaled sharply, unable to draw her eyes away from the scene. Whisper Master noticed.

“Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome doesn’t even begin to describe it,” the young girl replied. “But, once again, I don’t understand why you’re showing me this.”

Whisper Master raised an eyebrow at Zazzalil, a small smile on her face. “Isn’t it obvious? Zazzalil, do you want to become a Hero?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dog is barking at nothing she is stupid


	28. oenomel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is @bi-gstupid if anyone wants it

_ oenomel: something combining strength with sweetness _

Jemilla had only been to the Tribe Headquarters three times before in her life. Once around the time Molag first took her in, so that things could be sorted out with the rest of the Masters. A second time when Molag had come for a business trip and Jemilla had begged her to let her come until she gave in. And a third when Jemilla was given her Peacemaker outfit and name.

And then now.

Jemilla stood in the Grand Hall, staring up at the wide television. On it was a picture of Molag as War Master, an iconic picture of her battling Trunkell. She seemed so vibrant, Jemilla found it hard to take her eyes off the picture. The image on the screen faded to a black screen with white words and a date, but Jemilla tore her eyes from it. She didn’t need to read that.

They didn’t need words on a screen to let everybody know they were mourning.

Jemilla sighed, her brain felt foggy. She could go for a swim, or get food, but the thought of eating made her sick to her stomach. 

The upper floors of the Headquarters were basically a hotel, added on after more and more important people from around the world swarmed to the Headquarters and needed places to live, plus some of the mid-levels served as a boarding school for young Heroes in training.

In short, the building was fucking massive.

Jemilla’s room itself was, surprise surprise, big. Giant, really. There were spare clothes (not really, just Tribe sweaters and t-shirts) and some snacks, but she’d just changed into work out clothes and headed down to the Sim Room.

She turned from the screen and booked it out of the hall, following an off-hallway that lead her to a large room filled with different terrains suited for different kinds of battles. The Simulation Room had originally been used as practice for different kinds of Rogues with different kinds of powers, but since then it had become a place for random Heroes to meet and fight, usually with little to no knowledge of each others powers.

Jemilla subconsciously felt her fingers reach up and touch her face, making sure the replacement mask she’d dug out of her drawers was still there (it was not customized, but that was something she could do while she was at the Headquarters). She knew the dangers even walking into the Sim Room posed, but she needed to focus on something,  _ anything _ , else.

Jemilla scanned the room before she quickly grabbed a pair of boxing gloves and hopped into one of the rings, her arms crossed as she waited for an opponent to show up. One did, fairly quickly, and Jemilla quickly took in her challenger.

A tall, lithe male with slicked back dark hair and a barely visible beard. His crooked smile as he nodded to Jemilla told the Hero everything she needed to know.

“Hey, Scrags, where’s the pup?”

“Zoinks, Peacemaker, where are your manners? I’m  _ masked _ .”

Jemilla snickered and rolled her eyes. Scrags and his Squad were well known among the Tribe for being the first graduates of the Tribe’s “Hero Academy,” the fairly recent establishment designed for children discovered to have powers but with no immediate necessity to become a Hero, unlike Jemilla. 

The lanky Hero and his beast-like spirit animal, Clueburt, shared what was known as a “totem connection” or “spirit connection” in technical terms. Jemilla just liked to call them Skinny Man and his Ghosty Dog.

“My most sincere apologies, Houndchaser,” Jemilla said with a small laugh. Scrags rolled his eyes but smirked.

“Clueburt won’t be joining our sparring session.”

“So no powers?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s just fine,” Jemilla remarked as she sunk into a fighting stance. Scrags smiled and mimicked her, shifting to mirror her position. The two had sparred before, and they’d become fairly close the second time Jemilla had forced Molag to let her visit Tribe Headquarters and had become extremely bored.

Scrags advanced first, his hands tucked closely in front of his face. Jemilla slipped the first probe he threw, her foot sliding back as she began to circle to the right. Scrags followed, keeping himself lined up in front of her as they turned parallel each other, tracing an invisible circle.

He launched another probe and Jemilla blocked this one in hopes of throwing him off, a plan that did not seem to work as Scrags immediately threw another and followed it with a counter-punch to the ribs. Jemilla managed to bring her elbow down just in time to block it, and launched her knee up, its path heading directly into Scrags’ ribs.

The older Hero, however, stumbled backwards just before her knee made contact, looking up at Jemilla with raised eyebrows.

“Playing dirty, are we?”

“No rules were established except for no powers, if you wanted traditional sparring you should have just asked.”

Scrags scoffed and sunk back into a fighting stance, muttering, “a menace,” to himself as he prepared. The probing returned, and Jemilla found herself extremely grateful that she was distracted and that Scrags hadn’t mentioned War Master yet. That was the effect the Sim Room had on most people. You fled to it to forget amidst a flurry of punches and sneaky knees to the ribs.

It ended with a flash of brown.

A familiar flash of brown, so recognizable yet unfamiliar to Jemilla. She only caught sight of it for a moment, yet felt her heart stop and time slow nonetheless. 

This was a feeling that was, naturally, interrupted with a side fist to the face that knocked Jemilla down.

“You got distracted,” Scrags stated as he stood over Jemilla, holding his hand out to her. She, however, was still in a slight state of shock. Jemilla scrambled to her feet without looking at Scrags, her wide-eyed gaze trained towards the window. The figure was gone. 

“I have to go,” she said quickly, “get… fresh air.”

Scrags’ head tilted to the side, “what?” he asked, but she was already gone.

Jemilla took off out of the building, her gaze scouring the entrance hall. Nothing, nothing, nothing,  _ there _ .

The flash brown twisted around a corner, and Jemilla bolted towards it once more. The moment she turned the corner, she saw the figure duck out of the building and into the garden. Jemilla felt her heart speed up as she ran, a twisting feeling pressing in her chest. 

It couldn’t be.

She flung the door open and found herself popped into the garden. Another more recent installment at the Headquarters, it had been a training arena that was taken down and turned into a decent sized maze constructed of vine walls laced with a colorful variety of flowers.

The figure had obviously dipped into the maze, and Jemilla wasn’t late to follow. However, she quickly discovered that they were nowhere in sight.

Well, shit. Instinct guided her from that point, and the colors of the flowers blurred in her tunnel vision as she sprinted through the maze. A left, a right. Another left perhaps. Fuck it, go straight.

And then there was water. The sound of water, to be specific. Jemilla froze, her chest rising and falling heavily as she slowly walked around the last corner and came to face a beautifully constructed marble fountain softly spewing clear water.

She wasn’t there. A pang stretched through Jemilla’s heart as she walked closer to the fountain, listening to the delicate churning and bubbling of the water as it spilled over the tiers.

And then she heard a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bicth


	29. mamihlapinatapai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a circle of slow burn

_ mamihlapinatapai: a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire _

“Nice mask,” Paul said as Zazzalil lead him away from the cafe stand.

“Thanks,” Zazzalil sighed, eyeing the mask in her hand.

Paul smirked and raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t mind, I was enjoying a quite pleasant conversation with your aunt before you pulled me away.” They both looked over at the cafe, where Emma was staring distractedly into her steaming coffee, a small smile on her face. She looked happy.

“I won’t keep you from your flirting for long. It’s just that Taz mentioned that you had something for me.”

Paul raised an eyebrow, “and what might that be?”

Zazzalil looked at the ground. “I can’t control my powers,” she said simply, “and holding back the fire is… painful.”

Paul watched her with his head slightly tilted to the side, the smile on his face faded into a small frown. He let out a soft sigh and reached one hand into his coat pocket. “I figured you’d ask sooner or later,” he said quietly before producing a small tin box and handing it to Zazzalil.

“And these will help?”

“Take one only when you feel it is absolutely necessary.” Zazzalil nodded, turning the metal box over in her hand. Paul spoke again, the usual monotone of his voice dropped to a grave tone that made Zazzalil look up at him with wide eyes. “Be careful with those,” he warned, “only when necessary. They’re dangerous.”

The girl’s nose scrunched in distaste, “are they legal?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

“Have you heard of the Solve-It Squad? The first group of Heroes to have graduated from the Tribe Academy when it was established?” Zazzalil shook her head. “You may have seen Houndchaser around, he’s usually stationed at Headquarters. But one of the members of the Squad, a girl named Lucidkeeper, had extreme intelligence in extraordinary levels. You might have heard of her. She’d go on to become Mind Master.”

Zazzalil felt her stomach turn. “Nevermind,” she whispered, “I have heard this story.”

“You’ve heard of her downfall? Her spiral into insanity? Her title getting revoked and disgraced? Her eventual descent into Rogue-hood and her slaughtering at the hand of all the Masters? Myself included?”

Zazzalil coughed, her gaze cast downwards. “That’s the one.”

Paul’s frown deepened, and even through the white shields of his mask Zazzalil could feel the intensity of his stare.

“It started with those pills in your hand. I’m the only one authorized to distribute them. Be careful.”

Zazzalil stared at him, a knot in her throat and her mouth hanging slightly open. No words formed on her lips, and when this became apparent, the smile returned to Paul’s face.

“I’m going to go flirt with your aunt now. If you need to take a breath of fresh air, the gardens are right down the hall and to the right.” He turned on his heel and left, leaving Zazzalil staring at the place where he’d stood. She watched as Paul smiled and sat down across from Emma, who blinked in surprise and smiled shyly. She sighed. Whatever, the garden would have to do.

She slipped the tin box in her pocket. It felt heavy. 

Zazzalil stared at the ground as she walked, trying to take her mind off of the pills. She vaguely wondered where Jemilla was. At home, probably healing. Maybe plotting her revenge against Zazzalil, texting her friends to stop being nice to her and Keeri. Zazz’s stomach turned. She hadn’t really opened her phone in a few days, but she didn’t use it ever except to ask Keeri what the homework was anyway.

Oh god, she hadn’t talked to Keeri in days. Zazzalil’s hand felt for her phone in the pocket of her sweater but couldn’t bring herself to pull it out. Something in the back of her mind told her that she’d tell Keeri, later, and as Zazzalil opened the side door and left the building, wandering into the garden maze, she decided she’d listen to it.

The maze was calm. Zazzalil took a right, and then another right, following which ever flowers she thought were the prettiest. Bougainvillea drooped out of the vine wall and interlaced with sparse maroon roses. She paused, listening. The sound of running water caused her to drift closer, and as Zazzalil took a left she suddenly realized she had wandered to the middle of the maze where a tall fountain stood.

Wow.

She stared at it, watching the way the water glistened gold in the receding sunlight as it spilled over the tiers. It was beautiful.

Zazzalil sighed lightly, a small smile growing in her face. 

A sound from the other side of the fountain made her freeze.

“Zazzalil?”

She paused, shifting over to the side to get a better look at whoever was on the other side of the fountain. She stiffened, shock slapping her across the face.

Peacemaker and Zazzalil stood on opposite ends of the fountain, both staring at each other with facial features contorted into varying degrees of shock. No. Not Peacemaker.

“Jemilla?”

“Z-Zazzalil.”

Jemilla began to walk over, her gaze not breaking from Zazzalil’s. The smaller girl felt her heart skip beats in her chest and nervousness claw at her stomach. She tried to speak as Jemilla made her way over. “What are you- I…” she broke off, taking a hesitant step back as Jemilla got closer and closer. Zazzalil flinched, her eyes closing as she waited for what was to come next.

But, she felt no knuckles bashing into the side of her face and no kick thrusting into her ribs. Instead, Jemilla’s arms wrapped around her body and pulled Zazzalil tightly into her chest.

Zazzalil blinked in shock as Jemilla’s head dropped over her shoulder and she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. God, Zazzalil, I’m sorry.”

Zazzalil’s chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat as she stood staring past Jemilla’s shoulder, her body stiff. Finally, tears sprang to her eyes and her arms wrapped around Jemilla’s waist as she dug her face into the crook of Jemilla’s neck.

They stood like that for a few heart beats, reveling in each other’s warmth and listening to the silvery murmur of the trickling water.

Zazzalil stepped back first, though it was only a small step, and she let her fingers drift up towards the other girl’s face.“Jemilla,” she said softly. Jemilla’s mouth hung slightly open, as if she were taking a moment to collect her words, and in that moment Zazzalil’s fingertips drifted up and traced the mask on Jemilla’s face. The taller girl spoke as Zazz’s nails slipped under the edges of the mask.

“Zazzalil, I needed to tell you… I just needed to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

“ _ You’re _ sorry?” Zazzalil asked incredulously as she slowly began to peel the mask off of Jemilla’s face. The taller girl’s breath caught in her throat as Zazzalil lifted it off and smiled softly as her gaze fell upon a set of watery eyes the color of dark soil. “There.”

“Of course.” Jemilla’s gaze dropped to her shoes and she stepped further back as her hands tightly gripped her biceps. Zazzalil blinked, her eyes widening as she took in the insecurity and fear Jemilla radiated. It contradicted wildly with her normal composure, and Zazz had to fight the urge to bring her back in for a hug as she continued to speak.

“I was  _ terrible _ .” She spat the last word, disgust for herself thick in her voice. “And I know there isn’t an excuse I can give that’ll make up for it, and I don’t really want to try to explain myself, but I do want you to know I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Zazzalil said, and Jemilla looked up quickly. The smaller girls voice dropped to a whisper, and she held unbreaking eye contact as she murmured, “always.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I will.”

“Why?”

Zazzalil smiled tentatively, “you’re alone. You’re angry. Your mom died and you’ve undertaken unimaginable responsibilities. I, on the other hand, had no good reason to act the way I did.”

“You were just trying to help, to-”

“If I’d have even  _ tried _ to understand what I was doing to make you so angry than I could have done something about it, but instead I kept throwing myself into danger.” Jemilla kept her mouth shut, her wide eyes watery. “I’m sorry, Jemilla.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it and let her gaze fall to Zazzalil’s mouth. Jemilla flinched forward slightly, and for a moment Zazzalil thought she was going in for a kiss, but instead Jemilla paused and took a shaky breath. She held her hand out to Zazzalil.

“It’s okay. It’s over now. Friends?”

A sharp pain dug in the smaller girl’s chest, but she nodded and shook Jemilla’s hand. “Friends.”

They smiled at each other as their hands slowly broke apart, and Zazzalil tried to ignore the way the pads of Jemilla’s fingertips lingered gently on her skin before her arms settled by her sides. 

Jemilla’s gaze finally broke, and she looked around. 

“You don’t happen to remember the way back, do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started from the bottom now we pretty much back at the bottom


	30. photo intermission part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i actually drew zazzalil this time  
also i figured out the easy way to upload pictures that previously did not have urls onto archive the EASY way alla yall givin me bad advice lyin  
send the photo to your email and then on a computer right click the image and click Copy Link Address and then copy that url into the source space when you upload it onto archive with the image box they have set up its easy

this is zazzalil's firebringer outfit

i actually drew her

and then i went highlighter crazy

rip

if this also does not work, here’s a link to the tumblr post I put the picture in. Click “keep reading”

<https://bi-gstupid.tumblr.com/post/187741231558/so-in-that-superhero-jazzalil-au-i-wrote-the>

Sorry


	31. eumoirous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ll like this

_ eumoirous: happiness due to being honest and wholesome _

A warm feeling tingled in Jemilla’s brain as she stood outside, her gaze cast upwards towards the moon. It was almost full, a half-bloated spot of white smudged brightly against the violet-turned-indigo of the sky, sitting comfortably amongst a swath of stars.

She could see her breath. It was getting warmer, for sure, yet still, Jemilla watched as her breath spilled from her lips in thick white clouds that quickly dispersed into the air. She’d found herself at the garden as she replayed the events of the day back in her mind, to no one’s surprise.

It glowed with an ethereal glow, not quite white, but rather something else entirely. It was like everything wanted to move but was trapped under a blanket of moonlight, still yet so alive. Jemilla smiled bitterly. The glow of the tall hedges of the maze looked the way she felt.

She felt alone.

Happy; sure. Content; more so than she had been. Yet still alone. Jemilla was beginning to think that it was a feeling that would never pass. However, as she sunk against the brick wall and deeper into Molag’s jacket, the thought of Zazzalil’s eyes dissolved in her mind, and she could feel the skin where her fingers had traced around and lifted off her mask burn sweetly. 

Alone didn’t necessitate loneliness, she realized dimly. That was a job left entirely up to fear.

“What are you thinking about?”

Jemilla yelped and pushed off the wall, spinning around quickly and feeling her fists tighten into balls. She came upon the sight of a smaller figure dressed in an unusual Hero outfit. It seemed she wore an all black skin suit under a giant sweater with two, thin rings of white and purple printed on it. The Tribe logo was a small circle on the corner of the hoodie.

“Do you like the suit?”

Jemilla blinked once. Then blinked again. “Zazzalil?”

“Firebringer, actually. I’m masked, Jemilla.” Zazz said with a smirk, and she raised an eyebrow, though amusement shone in her eyes.

“It seems that the tables have turned,” Jemilla said with a grin. “And look at those manners, excuse me. You’re learning fast.”

Zazzalil snickered as she tugged the face mask down and stripped the mask from her face. “Actually, no. I’m pretty much bullshitting my way through all of this. How do you like the outfit?”

Jemilla smiled. “It’s very you. I like it.”

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Zazz said excitedly. She flicked the hood of the sweatshirt up and turned around, revealing a large, painted imagine of a purple flame in a white ring.

“You’ve got a logo,” Jemilla said, unsure if the words were a statement or a question. An odd feeling knotted her stomach. Did this mean that Zazzalil was going off and becoming a Hero of another town? The Tribe had promised Hatchetfield to her, but certainly they wouldn’t let such power as Zazzalil’s go to waste. A sad smile fell over her face as Zazzalil turned back around, rambling excitedly.

“I’ve got a logo!” She laughed loudly, then clamped her mouth shut and looked around the garden, as if she would get in trouble if she was caught in the garden past dark. “Isn’t it cool? Hell, I don’t know what it’s for. They just sent me to Barb’s to help design it and it was in Emma and I’s room. It’s not even uncomfortable, Jemilla. Like, a skin tight suit isn’t uncomfortable, how is that even possible?”

Vaguely, Zazzalil’s rambling reminded Jemilla of their first night on Beanie’s rooftop as Zazz ranted about her aunt and excitedly showed her the lock screen picture of the two of them. Jemilla smiled.

“And you don’t know why you have it?”

“No fucking clue. I wonder how much it’s going to cost. Oh shit,” Zazzalil’s face suddenly fell, “what if it’s expensive and I can’t take it? Everybody would have just designed this suit for nothing. Oh man, now I feel stupid.”

Jemilla couldn’t hold back the light laugh that burst through her lips. So, Zazzalil hadn’t been told anything by the Tribe either. “I think they’ll let you keep it, Zazz,” she said, but she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t exactly know how to. The smaller girl smiled anyway.

“You think? That would be badass. I don’t know when I’d ever use it though, I— _ oh. _ I forgot to show you the actual best part.”

She was like a little kid, so excited and happy. Her brain was obviously a scattered mess due to the rush of serotonin she proved to be on, but Jemilla’s smile grew. It was nice to see her this happy.

Zazzalil raised one hand towards the sky and took a quick step backwards, and before Jemilla could process what was going on, the smaller girl lit her entire arm on fire, the purple flames like an amethyst beacon shooting towards the sky.

“Holy shit,” Jemilla said as she flinched farther from the flames; however, Zazzalil very quickly cut the flames out, as if worried that holding them out for any longer would result in an inability to get rid of them.

Jemilla blinked as Zazzalil held her arm out for her to see. “Look,” she explained excitedly, “my clothes aren’t sizzling off of my skin!”

“Wow, no shit,” Jemilla said, stepping closer to Zazz to get a better look at the unburned sleeve at the same time she took a step forward as well. They both stiffened, looking at each other with wide eyes. Jemilla coughed and ducked her head, trying to hide the burn of her cheeks. 

“Sorry,” Zazzalil said quietly, but neither made a move to separate. Jemilla let her dark gaze flick around the smaller girl’s face. She seemed to glow the same way the rest of the garden did, as if she was being engulfed in an aura of thin white. As if she weren’t from this world and were something else entirely.

Perhaps she wasn’t, Jemilla thought vaguely, she didn’t meet many people quite like Zazzalil anyway.

“Zazzalil,” she said in a slow tone, if only to hear the name on her tongue. Jemilla’s gaze dragged down her face, pausing at her lips before flickering to the corner of her vision.

“I can’t do it, Jemilla,” Zazzalil whispered, and when the taller Hero looked up, she could see that Zazzalil’s gaze poured fervently into hers with that intense ferocity she wasn’t sure she would ever grow used to.

“Do what?”

“Be… friends.” A sad looked fell over Jemilla’s features before Zazzalil continued. “I don’t think we ever could. As Zazzalil and Jemilla we were always something more, and as Firebringer and Peacemaker we were the complete opposite. Friendship falls in the middle of a scale we keep sprinting across.”

Jemilla’s eyes narrowed and her head tilted questioningly to the side as she suddenly found herself incapable of breaking Zazzalil’s hypnotizing stare. “It seems we are at an impasse then, Firebringer. What do you suppose we do?”

Zazzalil let out a light breath, and with it, the word “ _ choose _ ” fell lightly from her lips, spilling like smoke into the crisp air.

Jemilla barely registered what she was doing as her hands slipped up and cupped the back of Zazzalil’s neck, her thumb tilting the smaller girl’s chin upwards. She could hear the Zazzalil’s breath catch in her throat, and Jemilla’s head tilted farther to the side. 

“You don’t want me,” she whispered, “I’m problematic.”

Zazzalil’s gaze finally broke and strayed towards Jemilla’s lips. “I just want… Jemilla, I just want  _ you _ .”

The moonlight glinted white in her blown pupils, and Jemilla let out a shaky breath as she felt Zazzalil’s hands reach to her face and as they both leaned in.

“Zazzalil, be Hatchetfield’s Hero with me,” Jemilla’s eyes fluttered shut as she spoke, and in that moment, she could feel a strange combination of the cool moonlight and of Zazzalil’s warmth encasing her.

She was vaguely aware of Zazzalil whispering her name followed by, “yes, yes. Anything. Everything,” the moments before their lips touched, and the moment they did, a loud voice suddenly clapped through the night.

“Well. This is compromising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints* ......... garden sex?


	32. sarang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would anybody want to read a smut I wrote that’s not this au but has dark!jemilla

_ sarang: the feeling of wanting to be with someone until death _

Zazzalil’s eyes snapped open and she and Jemilla pushed away immediately, both looking around for the source of the voice, only to quickly realize that it was coming from behind a hedge and was not directed towards them.

Zazzalil let out a small sigh of relief, only for Jemilla to rush forward and place her pointer finger on her and Zazz’s lips in a frantic, shushing motion.

They listened.

“Of course I’m aware of what happened in Hatchetfield. You can’t be serious, you don’t think…” it was Cynthia. Her voice trailed off and it became evident that she was on the phone. “Shit. I was afraid of this. There’s not much we can do without solid evidence or else there will be a quick spiral down. Of course I want to do something but- Megagirl, you know the rules of the game. It doesn’t work like that.”

Zazzalil and Jemilla stared at each other, analyzing the emotions on each other’s faces. Zazz found herself able to detect confusion, shock, maybe fear. Something was wrong.

“We’ll just have to send people out. Yes, I can keep this on the down low. Who knows what would happen if he found out I was poking my nose into this. No. It’s gone on for too long and the connections are too clear. Junior and Space Master have something to do with this. Yes. Yes, you’ll have your team by tomorrow.”

There was a pause before the familiar clock of Cynthia hanging up the phone, and then a loud sigh. Jemilla and Zazzalil stayed still, Jemilla’s hands slowly dropping to her sides as they listened. Cynthia cursed under her breath, and the sound of her breath tapping more numbers into the phone followed. As she opened the door and went inside, the phone was ringing.

“Holy shit,” Zazzalil whispered, “what do you think is going on?” Something flashed across Jemilla’s face.

“I heard… earlier today I heard her on the phone with somebody talking about Junior.”

“Junior?”

“Space Master’s son.” 

“Space Master?”

“Oh come on. Dark Energy Manipulation? One of the most powerful Masters in the Tribe?”

Zazzalil stared blankly at Jemilla who sighed and snickered. “Figures. He has a son, who’s name is Sleepringer but that everybody calls Junior.”

“Isn’t that rude?”

“Yeah, but fuck Junior.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t, he’s the worst. Most of the adults like him, but he’s only a few years older than us and is a complete dick about it. He can do this broad sort of mind control, like mine but he can look through other people’s memories and do this hypnotism. I should be able to counter his with mine, that’s how mind powers usually work, but his are not like mine; actually, we don’t really know the extent of his powers.”

“Which makes him more dangerous?”

“Exactly. I always knew he was a pain in the ass but I didn’t think…” Jemilla trailed off, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared past Zazzalil’s shoulder. “We should get back to our rooms.”

A small smile flicked over Zazzalil’s face, “you’re waiting for that phone call, aren’t you?”

“It would be senseless of Cynthia not to bring me,” Jemilla replied with a shrug, though worry still stirred in her eyes. 

“And it would be tasteless of Cynthia not to bring me,” Zazzalil said dramatically as she raised one hand and let her brilliant purple flame dance around her fingertips. Jemilla smiled and shook her head.

“Show off.”

Zazzalil tilted her head, the smirk on her lips not fading. “I think we’ll be alright, Jemilla.”

The smile on the taller girl did fade, and she shuffled her feet. “And if we’re not?”

Zazzalil’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Were you kidding? When you asked me if I want to- to be Hatchetfield’s Hero… with you?”

Jemilla blinked at the smaller girls, her eyes wide in surprise. “Of course not.”

Zazzalil smiled widely and stood on her tiptoes, her hands resting on the back of the taller girl’s neck as she pressed a slow kiss to her mouth. Jemilla blinked in surprise, but melted into it, her hands grasping Zazzalil’s waist and pulling her closer into her.

A small, muffled moan rumbled in the back of Jemilla’s throat, and Zazz smiled into the kiss before pulling back. 

“Did you just-”

“Shut up,” Jemilla groaned, leaning back down for another kiss that the smaller girl pulled away from, still smirking.

“I should probably go back,” she whispered. Jemilla sighed but nodded. “And you’ve got a phone call to wait for.”

The smirk returned to Jemilla’s face. “Or,” she took a step forward, beginning to walk Zazzalil backwards, “I could stay here,” she took another step, “with you,” and another, “and forget,” another. 

Zazzalil began to look back but Jemilla’s hand raised to her cheek and forced her to look up at her. Zazzalil wished she could say she was less surprised than she was when she felt her back softly collide with the brick wall.

“What is it with you and the brick walls?” 

“It’s called aesthetic, babe.”

Jemilla leaned down slowly for another kiss, only to be interrupted once more by Zazzalil jerking her head backwards.

Jemilla let out a small huff, but the impatience dissolved into a tentative sort of concern at the look on the smaller girls face. She was heavy-lidded, and her breath was light, but her eyebrows were drawn together and a look that could have been either fear or sadness or both softly creasing her features.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jemilla… I think… I think I lo-” suddenly, a bright flash of white light cut her off.

“Do I even want to ask?” They both looked over quickly, and Zazzalil flushed at the sight of a dark-haired girl in a Tribe hoodie and skirt staring at the two of them with her arms crossed.

“Princess?” Was all Jemilla got out before the girl grabbed the two by the shoulders, and before Zazzalil could protest, there was another blinding flash of light and Zazzalil squeezed her eyes closed tightly.

She was in another place when she opened her eyes, looking around in complete bewilderment. Jemilla still was gripping her waist and the long obsidian hair was still holding her shoulders. Zazzalil realized they were still in an office, and Jemilla’s eyes were still squeezed tightly shut.

“Well!” The girl with the hair let her hands slip off of Jemilla and Zazzalil’s shoulders, her arms rising above her head in a long stretch. “Smack dab in the middle of the office. Not bad if I do say so myself.”

Not completely able to piece together what had just happened, Zazzalil looked at Jemilla, who had turned three shades lighter and was gripping the smaller girl’s waist so tightly she thought it might bruise.

“You okay, J-Mills?” Zazzalil asked, her head tilted to the side.

Jemilla tentatively opened her eyes, a nauseous look across her face. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah I’m fine. I just really hate teleporting.”

“Teleporting…” Zazzalil trailed off as the gears in her mind turned. She then blinked in surprise, turning to the girl in the Tribe hoodie as Jemilla stepped back from Zazzalil. “Oh.”

The girl smiled, extending her hand. “My name is Mooneater, you can just call me Princess. I can teleport.”

“Wow,” Zazzalil said, her eyebrows raised. “I’m Firebringer. You can call me Zazzalil. My fire is purple.”

Princess snickered, “I know.”

Zazzalil turned to Jemilla, about to ask a question, when the office door opened suddenly and Cynthia walked inside.

“I brought them just as you asked, Whisper Master,” Princess said with a wide smile as the woman entered.

“Good work, Mooneater,” Cynthia said with an approving nod and Princess disappeared with another flash of light only to reappear almost immediately after behind the large desk in the office, and she fell back dramatically into the giant leather chair behind it.

“Whisper Master?” Jemilla asked, her normal color returning. Her dark gaze flicked towards Zazzalil, and their eyes met with a knowing glance.

“Good evening,” Cynthia said, walking brusquely past them and leaning on the large wooden desk in the office. “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything,” Zazzalil coughed, her head ducking to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks and from the corner of her eye she could see Jemilla glancing warningly at Princess. “Actually, I don’t really give a fuck if I’ve interrupted anything, I needed to speak with you two.”

“Yeah no,” Jemilla said slowly, “you’re fine.”

Cynthia nodded, her gaze turning to Zazzalil and flitting up and down the girl. “I see the suit fits.”

“I love it,” she replied hastily. Cynthia nodded again and they all fell silent as the Master lit a cigarette and sighed, letting the grey smoke filter from her nose.

“Good. That’s good.” She took a drag and sighed once more, and Zazzalil watched as the smoke curled as it rose to the ceiling. “You are Hatchetfield’s Hero, Peacemaker, aren’t you?”

Jemilla and Zazzalil exchanged a glance, and Zazz felt the back of the taller girl’s hand lightly brush her own.

“Actually,” she said, “we both are.”

“And when did this happen?”

“I don’t know, like, ten minutes ago?”

Cynthia glanced at her watch, then nodded. “I was a little off, but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that something is happening in Hatchetfield, and I need you two on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a chapter.


	33. sulit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um gay

_ sulit: something that is worth it _

“Us? Why us?”

“Well you’re Hatchetfield’s Heroes aren’t you?” Both Heroes blinked and from the corner of her eye, Jemilla could see a small grin work it’s way onto Zazzalil’s face. “Besides, it’ll just be an investigation.”

“And I’m going too, of course?” All three of them looked back, only to see that Princess had looked up from her phone and was watching.

“Of course not,” Cynthia replied. Princess frowned.

“And why is that? I think that sneaking around doing an ‘investigation’ would be a lot easier with a teleporter on hand, don’t you?”

“There’s already two Heroes going.”

“Not going to lie, Whisper Master, but being able to light yourself on fire is not the most subtle of powers, no offense Firebringer.”

Zazzalil shrugged, “none taken.”

Cynthia’s eyebrows twitched in obvious frustration, and Jemilla felt her stomach knot. Princess did not seem to mind in the slightest, in fact, she seemed to be sharing the frustration and was standing from the chair.

“No, the answer is no. You’re too young.”

“I’m a year younger than them.”

“You’re too… inexperienced.”

“Firebringer became a Hero literally ten minutes ago and I’ve been running pick-up jobs for you since I was twelve.”

The frustration growing, Cynthia snuffed the cigarette out and turned on Princess, a glare settled across her eyes.

“I said no, Mooneater. We need you here.”

“No, you really don’t.”

Zazzalil and Jemilla exchanged an awkward glance as the room delved into a tense silence as a result of the stare-off between a pissed off Cynthia and a narrow-eyed Princess. Finally, Cynthia let out a long sigh and turned to the Hatchetfield Heroes.

“Your mission is clear, you objective is simple. Mooneater will accompany you  _ there _ , and then will come  _ back _ . No buts. Now, leave.” Jemilla and Zazzalil began to turn around and Zazz grabbed the door handle, however, as they opened it, Cynthia said, “not you, Mooneater. I need to speak with you for a second.”

Jemilla and Zazzalil slipped outside, letting the door close softly behind them. Jemilla started down the hall, but the smaller girl grabbed her hand and raised her pointer finger to her lips. They could hear Princess and Cynthia arguing inside.

“You need to stop treating me like I’m a child!”

“You  _ are _ a child.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m less than everybody else, or more important, or whatever the hell is going through your head. You’re not my… you’re not…”

“I’m not  _ what _ ?”

There was a pause. Princess didn’t respond and an audible sigh from Cynthia’s end was heard even through the door.

“Princess, you know I- you know I… care…” there was another pause before Cynthia spoke again, “don’t get hurt. Just don’t.”

“I won’t.”

Jemilla and Zazzalil straightened and stiffened as the door opened and Princess walked out, a glower creasing her features and her fists balled in the pockets of her hoodie as she marched past the Heroes.

“Come on, guys. Zazzalil, you go get your aunt. And pack. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”

Zazzalil and Jemilla exchanged a glance.

“Sure,” Jemilla said, and they started down the hall.

The sun rose quicker than either would have expected as they packed and wandered around the Headquarters. Cynthia had sent them a mission plan and neither had seen Mooneater since they’d all met at Cynthia’s office, and now they had all come back from getting Jemilla’s new mask and stood waiting for her at the ass-crack of dawn in the Headquarters Hall. 

Jemilla was half falling asleep on the couch, and Zazzalil was laying with her head in the taller Hero’s lap with her feet dangling over the side.

“Are you ready?” Zazzalil asked quietly, her eyes closed.

Jemilla smiled, “I have you, I think I’ll always be ready.”

“That was cheesy.” Jemilla snorted and Zazzalil’s grin widened. “I think that my aunt is going to date that Hero.” Jemilla looked over at Emma, who had fallen asleep with her cheek resting in her palm and a cup of coffee in her other hand.

“What Hero?”

“Paul. The one with the painful healing.”

Jemilla blinked, her eyebrows scrunching. She then gasped. “ _ Angel Master? _ ” Jemilla wrenched to a fully sitting up position and Zazzalil jerked from her place on her lap. Emma stirred but didn’t awaken.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry. What makes you think that? Masters don’t really… date.”

Zazzalil snickered, “I walked in and he was in the room Auntie Emma and I shared. More specifically, her part of the room. More specifically, on her bed. Sitting close enough to her that I’d obviously just interrupted something and they’d hurriedly separated.”

“That’s insane,” Jemilla said, shaking her head. “Your aunt has game, Zazz.”

“She’s my cool aunt.”

“I’ve heard.”

Zazzalil looked up at Jemilla at the same time the taller girl looked down. They smiled. Jemilla blinked, suddenly aware of the presence of an object in her pocket. Her hand reached down and her fingers curled around the object.

The necklace.

She pulled it out, and Zazzalil’s head tilted to the side. “What’s that?”

“It’s…” she turned it around in her hand, inspecting it closely, “it’s a choker.”

“It’s really pretty.” Zazzalil’s hand reached up and her fingertips lightly grazed the dangling shark teeth.

“It used to be Molag’s.”

“War Master’s?” Zazzalil pulled her hand back when Jemilla nodded. “You should wear it.”

The taller Hero sighed lightly. Sadness crept into her mind, but it was soft. She looked back down at Zazzalil, and smiled lightly at the curiosity in her widened eyes. “It doesn’t match my color theme,” she said with a shrug. Then, Jemilla paused. “But it does match yours.”

Zazzalil blinked, sitting up quickly and facing Jemilla. “What?”

“You should wear it.”

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you.” Hesitation clouded Zazzalil’s face, but Jemilla smiled reassuringly. “It’s from me. I want you to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Turn around.” Still cautious, Zazzalil turned slowly around. Jemilla felt her inhale sharply as she draped the choker around Zazz’s neck and begin to latch it, her fingers brushing the back of her neck and sending jolts through Jemilla everytime they did. “Too tight?” Jemilla asked, her breath warm in Zazzalil’s ear. The smaller girl shook her head.

“Alright, turn back around.” 

Zazzalil shifted back around and Jemilla had to force back a smirk at the slight burn of her cheeks. The taller girl nodded. 

“You look beautiful.”

Zazzalil smiled brightly, an infectious look that made a small grin curl the corners of Jemilla’s mouth. “Zazzalil, I have something… something to say.”

She raised an eyebrow as Jemilla bit her lip. “I need you to know that…” she trailed off, a frustrated huff streaming from her mouth. Zazzalil smirked and tilted her head to the side. 

“Know that…?”

Jemilla blinked at her, then let out a small, sighing laugh. Instead of speaking, her hand raised and settled along Zazzalil’s jawline, tilting the smaller girl’s head up as she brought her own head down.

Their lips connected, a Jemilla could feel Zazzalil smirking into the kiss. “Is this going to happen every time you’re at a loss for words?” The smaller girl whispered, and Jemilla rolled her eyes.

“Don’t count on it, babe,” she said before leaning down once more.

As if on cue, there was a flash of light and they both stiffened in each other’s arms.

“Really? Again?  _ Again? _ ”

Jemilla and Zazzalil pulled from each other quickly, both stifling bright red cheeks. Emma snorted awake from her place on the opposite end of the bench, rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn.

“Is it that time,” she said tiredly, and Princess nodded.

“Looks like you all need a wake up call. I can do that. Zazz, hold your aunt’s hand please,” she said. Jemilla jolted forward.

“Wait-” but before she could get out another word of protest, Zazzalil snatched Emma’s hand and Princess grabbed Jemilla and Zazzalil’s shoulders. They were gone in a flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I’m a *reads smudged writing on hand* bisectional


	34. monachopsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I never actually said what Cynthia’s powers were and then I realized that I myself did not establish what Cynthia’s powers are

_ monachopsis: the subtle persisting sense of being out of place _

“I need to stop blinking,” Zazzalil mumbled when she opened her eyes and found that she was back on the train that had delivered her and her aunt to Hatchetfield.

“It’s impossible,” Princess said as her hands slipped off of Zazzalil and Jemilla’s shoulders. “I think. Or maybe your eyes will burn out of your skull.”

Zazzalil snickered as Jemilla let out a loud groan and sunk against the smaller girl’s side. 

“Fuck teleporting,” she moaned and Zazzalil laughed, slinging her arm around the Jemilla’s shoulders.

“Come on, babe, let’s sit.”

The four of them sat down, and at some point Jemilla asked why they hadn’t just teleported to Hatchetfield.

“Did we teleport from your place to the Headquarters? No. We teleported to a bus stop. My powers aren’t limitless, dumbass.” Jemilla just grumbled and nuzzled into Zazzalil’s neck, sighing lightly and closing her eyes.

Jemilla fell asleep quite fast, shifting between leaning on Zazz and leaning against the window. Zazzalil, however, found herself restless.

She stood suddenly, ignoring the look Princess shot her way as she made her way to the back of the train to the bathroom, locking the door behind her and slumping against it. Zazzalil rubbed her eyes. Fuck, she was tired. However, she had not been blessed with the easy ability to fall asleep anywhere but in a bed, and so Zazzalil leaned over the sink and splashed water on her face.

A sudden realization struck her. She hadn’t needed to pull out her fire in days. Maybe burning so hard while she was fighting had been enough burning to last her days. Subconsciously, Zazzalil’s hand went to her pocket and she pulled out the tin box of pills, unopened still.

Or maybe that wasn’t how it worked after all. What had been the difference? 

So many things.

Zazzalil flicked opened the lid of the tin, revealing six shiny silver capsules. She plucked one out and inspected it carefully, watching the metallic powder collect on either end of the capsule as it rolled in her fingers.

She was… different. At least she felt different. Maybe it was the comfort of sharing the burden of her powers. Maybe it was the fact that suddenly, her powers didn’t seem so much like a burden.

Zazzalil shrugged and dropped the capsule back in the tin, listening to the cold clink of it as it dropped. She was about to close the box when there was a bright flash of light.

“What the—Princess?”

The obsidian eyed Hero blinked at her, “what are you doing in here.”

“I- I. Wait, what? What the hell are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Checking on you.”

“Wh- What if I’d been going pee or something? This seems uncalled for. Jeezus, why are these bathrooms so small?”

“They’re not really meant for two people.”

“Then leave?”

Princess’s gaze flicked to the opened box of silver pills, and she narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing with those?” It seemed more like a demand than a question.

Zazzalil snapped the lid shut, “Pa- Angel Master gave them to me. My powers are…”

“Out of control?” Zazzalil nodded. The cross look didn’t lift from Princess’s gaze. “Those are-”

“Dangerous? I know. I’ve gotten the talk.”

Princess leaned against the door and Zazzalil awkwardly shifted away, slipping the box into her pocket. “Have you taken any?”

“No.”

Princess nodded. “Were you about to?”

Zazzalil’s hands raised defensively and she shook her head. “No, I swear. I was just curious.”

Princess shrugged, “not my business.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“I was just curious.”

Zazzalil scoffed, grinning and shaking her head slowly. “I… to be honest I don’t know if I’m going to need them. I took them because I just thought that I would need them but things are… different now.”

“Good different?”

“Great different. I didn’t think that would really matter, that my powers are just wild either way, but I don’t know. I don’t think I knew myself as well as I thought I did.”

Princess nodded slowly. “We’ve all been there. If anything you’re surrounded by the only people right now who can truly understand you. Maybe even better than you can understand yourself.”

“Have you been there?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never had problems controlling out of control powers, more just distance and accuracy problems when I teleport. But the identity crisis…” she trailed off and they fell into a small silence as Princess shuffled her feet, “you an orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Most of us are. Having powers just sort of…”

“Attracts trouble?” Princess nodded. Zazzalil couldn’t help but grin. “All this time I thought it was just me.”

“Far from it. I’m an orphan, Jemilla’s an orphan. The three of us are luckier than most- I think. What’s your…”

“Group Foster Home. Terrific people.”

“Right. We’re luckier. I had sort of a rougher beginning but I’ve pretty much grown up at Headquarters.” At the questioning look from Zazzalil Princess cast her gaze to the corner. “I was stolen from my parents when I was born. Thrown into a human trafficking ring.” Zazzalil cringed.

“Oh.”

“But I got out before anything terrible happened. The servants…” she trailed off, then waved her hand dismissively. “It’s a story for another day. How about you? Why don’t you stay with your aunt?”

“My mom died in a car crash when I was a kid, Trunkell killed my dad when I was a little older. I was pretty much immediately placed in the Home when my aunt wasn’t deemed ‘mom material.’” Princess raised an eyebrow. “She’s in Community college right now. Lives in Hatchetfield. She visits me a lot.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is.”

Zazzalil’s arms crossed over her chest. “As nice as it is of you to drop by while I’m in the bathroom, is there a real reason why you’re here?”

“This train is a one way shot to west Hatchetfield. I’m told you’re aunt lives east.”

“It’s fine, she can stay at the Home. Sherrezade loves her, and so do my Siblings, so.”

Princess nodded, “alright. We’ll get there in about an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta go do research about what powers Cynthia could have now brb


	35. absquatulate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did anybody else laugh at absquatulate

_ absquatulate: to leave without saying goodbye _

“Is it really necessary that everybody comes in?”

Jemilla looked over at Zazzalil as she smoothed her mask onto her face, smirking. “Moral support?”

“You just want to see my room.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

Princess sighed, “I’m just grabbing some Five-Hour Energies or some Monster from the fridge.”

“Ja’Far doesn’t let us have-”

“You live in a house full of high schoolers. There’s going to be something.”

Zazzalil sighed and shrugged as she zipped up her old brown, purple, and white zip-hoodie over the skin suit and tucked her mask into her pocket.

“Fine. Just be quiet. They all should be gone for school and Whisper Master said she talked with Ja’Far but I don’t really know what to expect. They  _ shouldn’t  _ be home.”

The three of them nodded in unison as Zazzalil stepped up the porch, pulling her keys from somewhere in the pocket of her hoodie and unlocking the door as quietly as she could.

The door opened and Zazzalil nodded for the others to step inside. Jemilla smiled and kissed the smaller Hero on the top of the head as she passed, and the three of them stepped inside.

“Kitchen’s straight ahead, Princess. Emma, my bedroom is upstairs at the very end of the hall on your left, you know where it is. Jemilla, tape this note to the second bedroom door on the right and be quiet.”

Jemilla winked and snatched the note that Zazzalil was furiously scribbling, a smile growing on her face as she glanced at the absolute disaster that was her handwriting. The note read:

EMMA IS CRASHED ON MY BED, JUST A HEADS UP. I’LL TALK TO YA WHEN I CAN. THANKS, SORRY I'M MISSING SCHOOL. :)

-ZAZZALIL

“‘Thanks, sorry I’m missing school’ smiley face? That’s what you’re going with?”

Zazzalil shrugged, “I don’t know what Cynthia told them. Just go tape it.” She ripped a piece of tape from a roll that she pulled from a chest of drawers.

Jemilla nodded and brought them both upstairs, counting the doors silently and taping it onto the closed one. Just to check, the Hero peered into Zazzalil’s room where Emma was face down and asleep, not having bothered to change out of her clothes. The room itself a pale teal, though amidst the clutter of drawings and posters and notes and study sheets hung up on the walls, the color was barely visible.

Jemilla let out a low, impressed whistle as she stepped inside. Clothes littered the floor, though Jemilla could have predicted that much. Fairy lights hung along the ceiling, except instead of the signature, pale yellow lights most people had, they were multicolored Christmas lights that looked like they had been taken directly off of the tree.

Jemilla grinned. Everything just seemed so… Zazzalil. 

Not wanting to be any more intrusive than she already was, Jemilla turned around and began to head down the stairs. 

“Ah, and you must be Jemilla.” An unfamiliar voice reached the Hero’s ears, and she hesitantly walked down the rest of the stairs, and turned the corner to find a guilty-looking Zazzalil facing a tall, bearded man with reading glasses and one raised eyebrow.

“Oh. Uh. No, sir. My… my name is Peacemaker. I don’t know who- who this Jemilla character is. Ah,” she chuckled awkwardly. Zazzalil let out a defeated sigh and shook her head as Jemilla shot her an apologetic shrug.

To both of their surprise, the man let out a breathy laugh. “It’s quite fine, both of you. I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I got a call from someone telling me that our dear Zazzalil had left suddenly to take care of her sick aunt, but her sneaking into the house with her superhero girlfriend was certainly not it.”

“Ja’Far, Jemilla. Jemilla, Ja’Far,” Zazzalil quickly went through introductions and Jemilla felt suddenly compelled to shake his hand.

“Sir,” she said as she quickly reached out to shake his hand. He smirked and shook it.

“Zazzalil, do you care to explain to me exactly what is going on here?” J.F. said, turning back to the small Hero. Zazzalil’s hands balled in her pockets.

“Oh. Well. Jemilla here, she… offered to help me take care of. Emma. Of Emma. But we had to grab… Band-Aids.”

“Band-Aids?”

“Band-Aids! Because she’s… on her period?”

Ja’Far opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking. “I don’t think that’s how that works, Zazzalil.”

Zazz opened her mouth to try again, much to Jemilla’s reprieve, but a voice came from the kitchen.

“Yo, Zazz, can I take a Go-Gurt while I’m-” Princess cut herself off as she walked into the living room, only to find Ja’Far standing with Jemilla and Zazzalil. “...here.”

“Um, J.F. This is Pr- I mean Mooneater.”

Princess raised her eyebrows and waved with the hand holding Go-Gurt. “Yes, hello. Hi. Yeah, I’m just here because I’m… helping these two- to…”

“Help with Emma,” Jemilla said quickly.

“Help with Emma!” Princess repeated. “Yes. Because she’s… on… her period?”

Jemilla high-fived Princess and the two of them looked at Zazzalil expectantly, who was still shaking her head in disappointment. 

Ja’Far watched Zazzalil, an eyebrow still raised expectantly. The girl let out a small sigh and glanced at Princess and Jemilla.

“You guys should head out. I’ll meet you outside.” The two Heroes exchanged a glance and nodded.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Far. Thank you for the Go-Gurt and Red Bull’s I’m not supposed to let you know are in your fridge,” Princess said, shifting the Go-Gurt to her other hand as she reached over to shake hands with Ja’Far.

He blinked in surprise as he shook her hand. “You know, my wife has the same birthmark on her hand.” Princess looked down, inspecting the vaguely crescent-shaped birthmark on her thumb. Princess chuckled.

“Ah, it’s how I got my superhero name. I was a nervous child and I sucked my thumb until I was, like, eleven. Cy- ah, my guardian always teased me that it looked like the moon. Mooneater… it’s sort of an inside joke.”

Ja’Far smiled at her, his eyes watching Princess’s gaze with sort of an intense curiosity, as if he recognized her yet found her viciously unfamiliar at the same time. 

“I understand,” he said. Princess smiled too, and waved as she turned around. J.F.’s gaze followed her out the door.

“Nice to meet you,” Jemilla said, following Princess out the door. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, obviously the only person set so that she could actually receive notifications from. Jemilla pulled it out. The plan was laid out in detail, with coordinates, a map, and blueprints. She exchanged a glance with Princess, who had received the same thing.

It was almost time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frustrating, right?


	36. dern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dern dern derndern dern.

_ dern: secret, hidden, dark _

“Ja’Far… there’s something I need to- I need to...”

“Zazzalil. I know.”

Zazzalil blinked, her eyes wide. “I- what.”

“I know. You’re not very subtle. I didn’t want to say anything because I figured you’d tell me on your own time.” The young girl only stared at him with her mouth hanging slightly opened. “I won’t tell Sherrezade, unless you want me to.”

“I… I…”

Ja’Far sighed. “But you need to go, don’t you? That’s quite alright. I’ll wait for you to come back.” Zazzalil was still incapable of saying much of anything, and she blinked once more, her gaze turning towards the floor. “Stay safe, Zazzalil. And stop getting Red Bull. I don’t know who’s doing that but they are not healthy.”

“Ja’Far…” Zazzalil trailed off and J.F. smiled at her.

“Go on, then.”

She smiled warmly at him and gave him a small nod. “Thanks.” 

“Cool guy,” Princess said between giant gulps of Red Bull as Zazzalil stepped onto the porch, unzipping her sweater and beginning to change into the Tribe issued, official Firebringer sweater. God it made her feel badass.

“Did he like me? Do you think he liked me? I couldn’t tell. I think-”

Zazzalil stuck her head from the sweater, smoothing her mask onto her face. “Jemilla, babe. I’m sure he loved you. Now. Agenda?”

Princess held both of her hands out. “I can get us to the location. Just a reminder, though. This is only an inspection. We see, we leave, we report.”

“Are you even still supposed to be here?”

“No, but I’m not leaving.”

“Fair.”

Jemilla and Zazzalil took Princess’s hands, a sick look falling over Jemilla’s face. “Most importantly: we need to stay together and we need to stay quiet. Got it?”

The others nodded and Princess smiled. “Then let’s be off, shall we?” 

Zazzalil closed her eyes, and was face to face with a giant building when they opened. She frowned, eyeing the stalks of vines that twisted in and out of the crumbling brick. Jemilla slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her nauseous groan.

“Another abandoned warehouse?”

“They’re really pushing the aesthetic.”

Zazzalil scratched the back of her neck, tilting her head. “Or maybe that’s why they had us fighting near the other one.”

Princess looked over with an eyebrow raised. “How do you mean?”

“Well the building blew up and was obviously set to do so, so everything in it was destroyed. Maybe Whisper Master was getting too close to finding it and so they had to relocate and used us to destroy evidence.”

Princess blinked. “We really could have used you earlier. But you’re on the right track. Cynthia spent a while finding this hide out. We’re not really expecting much from it but I guess that’s what we’re here for.

“This is my first real mission. Anything else than ‘not expecting much’ would probably go terribly,” Zazz replied with a grin. Jemilla recovered, a hand running through her hair.

“Alright. Okay let’s go. You teleporting us in?” Without another word, Princess grabbed their hands and Zazzalil let out a small gasp as they suddenly appeared in the building. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jemilla whispered, her grip on Zazzalil’s bicep tight. Princess shushed them both.

The crumbling warehouse seemed to be just that even on the inside. A crumbling warehouse. Rubble and trash littered the halls. Sunlight filtered through the holes and broken windows, making the cobwebs threading through the corners glow and making the drifting dust particles glimmer. The end of the hall, however, gave away to black. 

“Do you have the blueprints pulled out?” Zazzalil whispered, and Princess nodded, turning her palm up and slightly extending her arm. A metallic gadget fit like a glove around her hand, it’s thin arms wrapping around her fingers and wrist and coming together to connect to a glowing circle in the center of her palm. Princess tapped the circle and from it, a hologram flickered to life.

“A fucking hologram?” Zazzalil whispered, shaking her head. “I need to browse the tech at a Headquarters more.”

Princess shook her head as she shifted the blueprints and zoomed with her fingers. “Oh no, we don’t get new tech at this age. All of Jemilla’s is from Molag and I stole this from Cynthia.”

Zazzalil frowned. “Ah shit.”

“Here.” Princess zoomed in on the hologram. “Most of the busy signals come from here, and so I’m expecting that that’s where the main action is going to be.”

Zazzalil grinned and clapped her hands together, rubbing them together excitedly. “Then that’s where we’re headed.”

“No that’s literally the opposite of what we’re doing,” Jemilla cut in. Zazzalil frowned and huffed, then brightened. She sashayed to Jemilla and wrapped her arm around the taller girl’s shoulders, who responded by wrapping a hand around Zazzalil’s waist.

“But, consider  _ this _ . We go, bust in the action, fuck some shit up, and then bam, Snarl’s dead, something is happening to that Junior kid, and we’re big shot Heroes at the Tribe.”

“You’re cute, but I’d rather not risk dying.”

“Well where’s the fun in that?”

Princess closed her fist, making the hologram disappear. “Jemilla’s right. We stay away from the busy signals, inch around, see what we can pick up. We’ll bug the place, get in and get out. It would be preferred if we go undetected. Got it?”

Zazzalil rolled her eyes but nodded. “Fine fine. Suit yourselves. Where are we headed first?”

Princess brought the hologram back, “the busiest signals are probably where the main database is, but probably also where the people we want to avoid are. We’ll hang on the edge of the signals, just far away that we stay out of trouble but still in the action. Sound good?”

The other two nodded and Princess closed her fist. “Alright,” she said, “so if my estimations are right, we’ll need to teleport,” she tilted her head, eyebrows scrunching as she thought. “Alright. I think I’ve got it. Hold on.”

“Oh goddam-”

Princess grabbed Jemilla and Zazzalil’s arms before Jemilla could finish her statement.

Zazzalil closed her eyes, and opened them to a scream.

They weren’t in the same place, that much was obvious. Huge computers, flickering lights, and someone— _ something _ —right in front of them.

It was towering, Zazzalil would have guessed over seven feet tall, long and thin and skeletal with greyish skin that stretched tightly over jutting bones. It had two sets of arms, the second located on the ribs, and both stretched down at absurdly long lengths so that the fingertips nearly grazed the floor. Its nose was horrifically elongated about a foot in front of its face and the end broke off in a needle-like point. The two translucent, black wings on its back hung low between its shoulder blades, almost cupping the spindly figure of the beast like a cloak.

Princess had been the one that screamed. Zazzalil felt the breath suck from her chest and she stumbled back as the creature slowly looked down at them past its long nose, revealing a thin mop of black hair that hung just in front of its pupil-less blue eyes. It seemed confused, or shocked, and then it reacted.

Zazzalil turned around, about to run, when Princess grabbed her hand. She looked over, reaching for Jemilla, but then there was a bright flash of light and they were gone.

Zazzalil gasped when she opened her eyes, seeing that they were back in the dim hall. “Oh my god,” she said, “what the fuck was that thing?”

“I… I must have been wrong. We landed right in the main center, I’m sorry, I-”

“Wait,” Zazzalil interrupted as she straightened, “where’s Jemilla?”

Princess froze, horror twisting her features as she looked around. “I thought… I thought you grabbed her.”

A sick feeling twisted Zazzalil’s stomach, “I was reaching… I was reaching for her but…”

Horror and anger flushed through her body. She exhaled shakily, her hands tightening into fists. She suddenly felt it, a hot bloom sprouting in her stomach.

Princess looked at her with a cautious sort of fear. “Zazzalil… are you- are you okay? You look-”

Violet fire twisted around her fingertips and her eyes narrowed behind the white shields of her mask.

“Take me to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucked


	37. ah fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah fuck

_ ah fuck: ah fuck _

They were gone. Ah fuck.

Jemilla began to run, only to feel long, cold fingers wrap around her forearm and yank her backwards. She let out a small yelp and tried to regain her footing, only to feel her back collide into something hard.

She turned around, and felt her heart drop.

“Hello, little one,” Snarl said, his lips curling up in a cold smile to reveal pointed fangs. Jemilla stumbled backwards as his fist raised and flashed forward. All went black.

Ah fuck.

It was cold. That was the first thing Jemilla realized when she opened her eyes—even though it was a thought that could easily have been noted without sight. Nevertheless, it was cold.

Jemilla shivered as she looked around, trying to ignore the blinding pain that buzzed through her body. Shit, he must have cut one right to the jaw.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” Jemilla groaned. Her head felt like lead, and when she tried to shift her body to stand up, she came to the quick realization that her hands were bound behind her back along with her ankles.

“Yikes, Peacemaker. It looks like you’re kind of in a pickle.” A sour taste bloomed in Jemilla’s mouth and she curled her lips in disgust.

“Ugh. Junior.”

“Ugh? That’s not very nice of you. And please, I’d rather be referred to with my Hero name in the presence of other Heroes.”

“You’re no Hero, you dick. Cynthia knew you were up to something.”

Junior shrugged, “she’s one smart cookie, that Whisper Master. She knew I’ve been up to something for ages.” He snickered, “but you know my dad. She had to get past him to get to me.”

“What the fuck was that nasty-ass monster thing that stopped us?” Junior grinned.

“Oh you don’t mean Neato do you? I don’t think he’s too ugly. Veeto, come over here and tell our guest that your brother’s not ugly.”

To Jemilla’s horror, another one of the monsters lumbered into view, this one even taller. “Don’t tell me there’s two of them.”

Juniors grin widened. “Three, actually. Sweetheart isn’t here right now, she’s in the lab for some… upgrades. But she’s with us in spirit.”

Veeto nodded dumbly, not taking its bug-like eyes off of Jemilla. 

“What… what are they?”

Junior’s smile widened. “Is it monologue time?”

“I suppose. It’ll distract from the pain.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. Snarl is out hunting your other buddies so I assume they’ll be joining us shortly.” 

Jemilla sighed. Zazzalil and Princess alone sounded like a recipe for disaster, so she wouldn’t be surprised if Junior proved to be right. Ah fuck. She just hoped Snarl would be more gentle with those two assholes than he was with her. She was really surprised that he hadn’t killed her while he had the chance.

“Alright. Let’s hear the monologue.”

“You’ve heard of New York City’s infamous villain, The Deadliest Man Alive?”

“Of course. Didn’t he just go into hiding or some shit?”

“A month or two back, yes. See, it’s a fun story.  _ I _ of all people was sent to do something about him, because Curt and Owen are, well, at an impasse at the moment. I met him and fighting ensued, but as I was rooting through his memories, I came upon a startling discovery.”

“Hidden lab?”

“Sort of. More like he was funding and protecting the secrecy of this entire set of lab experiments on people, actual people! Some with powers, some without.” Jemilla felt her stomach twist.

“That’s what Snarl is? An experiment?”

“Trunkell, too. Everybody always said she was sort of animal-like, well there’s a reason for that. She was the debut artificial Rogue! Bonafied Frankenstein!”

“Monster.”

“Me?”

“No, it- it was Frankenstein’s monster.”

Junior laughed, “I don’t give a single fuck!”

“That’s fair. Continue.”

“Anyway, I decided to take it upon myself to help fund and protect this experiment, I’ve had quite the ride. My dad knows, sort of. I wanted to surprise him with this! Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Yeah sure, if positively horrifying is his thing.”

“Thanks! It is! I’m pretty proud of it. Well, most of it. The mosquito brothers were failed but,” he interrupted to let out a barking laugh, “who cares, they look creepy enough to scare the shit out of any Hero! They act better as henchmen anyway. Actually, they were a gift to me.”

“Oh cool. From who?”

“From The Deadliest Man Alive, the sexy motherfucker.”

Jemilla squinted. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

Junior shrugged. “I think the fact that my name is correlated with young gives off the wrong impression. I’m 25.”

“Oh nice. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Hey, thanks. Oh gosh, look at the time. Pincer is waiting.”

“Pincer?”

“But of course your little friends are still running around. Maybe I should wait for Snarl to get them.” Junior turned to Veeto. “Veeto, go get Neato and make sure Snarl can handle the other two.” The terrifying creature nodded slowly before turning and marching past Jemilla. “I’ll go feed Pincer in a bit. He can wait. I need to finish monologuing, don’t I? I don’t want to be rude.”

Jemilla shook her head, “no, no, you're fine. Take your time.”

“Right,” Junior clapped his hands together, “tirade, then basement.”

“Quick question.”

“Shoot.”

“What the fuck is a Pincer?”

Junior laughed, “we’ll get there. Be patient. Anyway, where was I?”

“Mosquito Brothers?”

“Oh yeah. My favorite failed experiments. Aren’t the-”

The door suddenly burst open, and from it, a squirming Zazzalil and completely blacked out Princess were thrown over the shoulders of a mildly annoyed Snarl.

“You could be a little more gentle you know,” Zazzalil was saying, “I’ll start kicking, I will. I won’t hesitate, bitch. Ah! J- Peacemaker!” Zazzalil twisted around as Snarl dropped Princess to the ground. “Finally, I was beginning to think he wasn’t taking us to you.”

Snarl’s eyebrows drew together at the laugh that tore from Zazzalil’s throat. “Let’s get started,” she said jubilantly, “shall we?”

And suddenly, Jemilla saw violet.

Ah.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah fuck


	38. dystychiphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can hear the fucking ice cream truck

_ dystychiphobia: the fear of hurting someone _

Setting her arms ablaze and not having to worry about her clothing melting off of her body was quite liberating for Zazzalil. The sweet, lavender smell of her smoke burned her nostrils as the violet licks of flame blasted from her palms, setting almost everything around her on fire.

Princess teleported quickly out of the way, unfortunately Snarl had grabbed her wrist when she did this and now they were both at the opposite end of the room. Princess could fight him off for a bit, that was fine. The real problem was where the hell that sneaky little rat bastard had scampered off to.

Zazzalil turned her gaze around the room, realizing three things at the exact same time.

First, the gross fucking slender man-looking-ass-mosquito thing was present, or was it another one?

Second, it was holding Jemilla by the arm, and Jemilla was restrained by bunds around her arms and ankles. That might be a problem.

The third was that sneaky little rat bastard was nowhere to be found.

Of course, the most immediate concerns were the first and second, and Zazzalil took off towards the gruesomely lanky bug-man. She contained the fire to just her fist and ran forward, but the mosquito dodged it with surprising grace. Fortunately, this gave Jemilla the momentary distraction she needed and she twisted and ducked, spinning around and head butting the mosquito in the stomach. It reeled back, letting go of Jemilla’s arm, and she responded immediately by dropping to the floor, completely incapacitated thanks to the binds around her ankles.

Zazzalil ran to her, stepping over the Hero and standing with her in between her spread legs as she blasted violet flames at the mosquito. It staggered back, spinning so that the flames pummeled against its wings. 

“A little help?” Jemilla asked, her shoulders rolling as she struggled to work her way out of the binds. Zazzalil cast one more glance at the mosquito before dropping to her knees. 

“I don’t want to burn you,” she said, a worried frown etching into her face. 

“Control it,” Jemilla whispered back, tensing in preparation. Zazzalil took a few deep breaths before she hooked one finger under the thick rope and lit a concentrated area of her finger on fire. Her eyes narrowed and she held her breath as she pulled up on the ropes. They snapped. 

Jemilla let out a long breath as she rubbed her wrists and Zazzalil moved down to her ankles. 

“Thick rope… seems like a weak-ass choice of binding,” Zazzalil breathed. Jemilla chuckled as the other Hero repeated the process that had worked with the wrist binds.

“Are you complaining?”

The rope sizzled and snapped. Zazz smiled as she stood and held a hand out for Jemilla. “Not at all.”

The curly-haired Hero hoisted herself up, stumbling forward into Zazzalil and kissing the smaller girl on the forehead.

“Thanks. Kick ass. I’ll get Veeto.” And with that she was gone, flashing back towards the mosquito man.

“Get him good, babe!” Zazzalil called out, laughing until she was abruptly cut off when a hard kick landed into her ribs and knocked her sideways.

Princess was suddenly teleported at her side, heaving a groaning Zazzalil to her feet.

“Help me fight this fucking beast. He’s  _ huge _ .”

“I can see that,” Zazzalil retorted, wincing in pain at her ribs as Princess teleported them in front of Snarl, who had been stalking to Jemilla as she fought the mosquito—Veeto apparently. 

Princess dropped off Zazzalil and then teleported into the air, dropping onto Snarl’s shoulders as Zazz lit her fists on fire. The hulking cat-man released a throaty growl and effectively side-stepped the first throw that Zazzalil swung, only to have that growl turn into a roar when Princess suddenly produced a knife from god-knows-where and plunged it into Snarl’s shoulder.

His arms reached up and threw Princess from his shoulders, sending her into Zazzalil who only just managed to snuff out her flames before the long-haired Hero crashed into her.

“Shit,” she cursed as she stood up, “my knife.”

Zazzalil blinked wearily as she stood, vaguely noting that Princess’s knife was still buried in Snarl’s shoulder.

“Where the hell did the knife come from?” 

“That is for me to know and for you to find out.”

Snarl gnashed his teeth together, lips drawing up over his tusks with a rumbling growl as his hairy, clawed hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife and tugged it out. Princess and Zazzalil both watched with horror as unnaturally dark blood spilled accordingly from the wound. 

Snarl huffed and tossed the knife to the side. Princess and Zazzalil exchanged a wide-eyed glance. The raven-haired girl teleported to get her knife as Zazz felt her arms lighting on fire. She ran forward towards Snarl, leaping into the air and curling her hand into a tight fist, but the Rogue’s hand flashed forward and caught Zazzalil by the throat.

“ _ Ack-” _

She let out a choked yell and raised her flaming fists to slam them down onto Snarl. She closed her eyes, and the moment she did, she felt herself falling through the air and landing with a  _ thud  _ onto the floor.

When she opened her eyes, Snarl was gone, and in his place stood a grinning, burly man with a slightly crooked mask. He grabbed Zazzalil by the shoulder, and picked her up and set her on her feet as if she weighed no more than a large tomato. Super strength, it seemed.

“Hi! My name is Tootsie, I’m here to rescue you.”

“Tootsie, my dear, you are masked.” Zazzalil looked over to find a… cyborg? Her shiny white hair fell perfectly just above her shoulders and random parts of her body was replaced with a gleaming silver metal. 

“Wow,” Zazzalil breathed as Tootsie gasped audibly.

“Oh right! I’m sorry! I don’t remember to say my Hero name first a lot. Megagirl is always the one to remind me.”

“You are not supposed to say my name either.”

“Aw shoot.”

Before Zazzalil could ask any questions, Snarl came tearing forward. Zazzalil let her fists on fire, but Tootsie or whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was stepped in front of the young Hero and launched a blow across Snarl’s face. Much to her surprise, he jerked to the side and stumbled. Megagirl took the opportunity to walk forward, her gate awkward due to one of her legs being made completely out of metal, and one metal hand glowed red.

“Stay back,” she said in an automated sounding voice. Her arm extended and suddenly, small, pellet-like lasers were being fired from the tips of her fingers and blasted into Snarl’s chest.

“Holy shit,” Zazzalil whispered in awe at the sight. 

“Hey, are you hurt?” Zazz yelped and looked over, stiffening when she saw that Angel Master has appeared suddenly beside her.

“W-What?”

“Are you hurt? And where is Peacemaker?”

“What the hell is everybody doing here? And what do you mean ‘where’s Peacemaker,’ she’s right-” the pyrokinetic Hero cut herself off, looking around wildly. Peacemaker was nowhere to be found, along with the lanky mosquito man.

“I- she was right here. She was fighting the… the mosquito.”

Angel Master raised an eyebrow, “the mosquito? Whisper Master sent a team down when Mooneater didn’t come back and it looks like you needed help. What’s going on here?”

Zazzalil whirled around, suddenly feeling lightheaded. “I need to find Jemilla. She was here. She-”

“I would suggest you stop trying to kill my Rogue.”

A familiar voice rang sharply throughout the room. Zazzalil felt her body go cold. 

“Powers are fun and all, but in the end, guns are always the most effective weapon.”

There was a metallic hiss, and a hidden metal door slid open, revealing Junior standing with an unnecessarily giant gun pointed directly at a stilled Jemilla. The mosquito man was back at it again and gripping Jemilla’s biceps tightly, all hunched over in the door frame.

“Put the gun down, Junior,” Megagirl warned.

Junior frowned and sighed, “will people just call me by my fucking Hero name?”

Angel Master stepped subtly in front of Zazzalil, one hand pushing her lightly behind him. “It’s too late, Junior. That title isn’t yours anymore. We got just enough from these girls’ bugs to convict you. Just give up.”

Junior’s frown twisted into a mangled grin and he shoved the gun further into Jemilla’s ribs, though she didn’t flinch.

“Oh really? Then what would happen if I did  _ this? _ ” And with that, his hand reached up and ripped the mask off of Jemilla’s face. There was a tense silence that followed and Junior glared at Jemilla. He took a step forward, then took steps back, his eyes narrowed as he watched Jemilla intensely.

“I have no idea who the fuck you are. Did everyone know she looked like that?” The Heroes in the room exchanged awkward glances before nodding and shrugging their shoulders. Junior sighed, letting his head hang down momentarily. “That’s so disappointing. I’ve been wanting to do that forever. Oh well. Never mind. We have a show to finish.” With that, he raised the gun higher into Jemilla’s head and he dug the tip into her temple.

Zazzalil flinched forward, her eyes wide as she watched Jemilla’s facial expressions. She was still rigid, but there was a tiredness in her unshielded eyes.

“I have a gun to her head and I’ll shoot if I don’t get what I want.”

“You’re so pathetic.” Surprise filtered through the room when Jemilla spoke, her tone seething and dripping with a hatred that made Junior’s forced smile grow. Instead of answering, he lifted the gun from her skin momentarily before bashing it down across her temple. Jemilla let out a small cry and sunk against the doorframe.

Zazzalil felt her body flush cold and she froze, her breath stopped in her chest and eyes wide.

But only for a few moments, as the anger that flared viciously in her burned more brightly than it ever had before. 

Zazzalil unleashed hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha roar XD1!1!!!1111!1


	39. lacuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lacuna matata

_ lacuna: a blank space, a missing part _

So Zazzalil was on fire.

No, really, one minute she was watching Junior smash a gun across Jemilla’s temple, and the next, she had managed to light her entire body aflame.

Junior barely managed to get out a “holy sh-” before violet fire came blasting towards him, and Jemilla and Veeto jumped out of the way. 

There was a scream from Junior, but the metallic door slid closed behind him and muffled it. Jemilla turned to Zazzalil, feeling her breath catch in her throat.

Truly, it was a sight to see. The flames engulfing her were so thick that the only thing visible through the amethyst fire were the whites of her mask. Whites that were focused on the mosquito man still clutching Jemilla’s shoulder.

Jemilla was sure she could have handled Veeto herself, but she dodged out of the way when Zazzalil came running towards him and instead crashed herself into a hard figure.

“It seems like your feisty friend is more dangerous than we thought, isn’t she, little one?” 

Jemilla frowned and ducked when Snarl’s clawed hand came swinging towards her neck. She reached up and grabbed his head with her hands, a sneer worked across her lips. He was bleeding inky blood from a stab wound in his shoulder and his bulging body was peppered with various burns and welts.

“Her name is Firebringer. And you seem to keep forgetting that mine is Peacemaker.” Snarl growled, his hands flinching forward to smack Jemilla off but it was too late. Her eyes slid into the back of her head and returned slitted and yellow. “I’m going to make sure you don’t forget.” 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shrieked.

Horror stretched across Snarl’s face, his head flinching back and forth and strangled yells ripping from his throat. His body jerked forward and Jemilla almost stumbled, but she dug her fingers into the sides of Snarl’s head and screamed louder.

Dimly, she was aware of noises coming from the room. More people? Ah yes, Haystacker and Skinwrangler had showed up. Why had they showed? She was getting lightheaded.

Snarl dropped to his knees, his entire body quaking with vicious force. Jemilla’s breath was labored and spots floated in her vision as Snarl slowly forced his head up to look at her. His slitted yellow eyes were bloodshot and pain and anger twisted his features menacingly. 

‘ _ Weak. _ ’

Jemilla stiffened, feeling her grasp slip momentarily, but she recovered and tightened the mental grip she had over Snarl. What was that? It couldn’t have been-

‘ _ Weak. _ ’

Jemilla’s eyes snapped open. It couldn’t be. She looked down at Snarl and found that beneath the agony etched into his features, a daunting smirk was tugging at his lips. He’d figured out how to use the mental link, it seemed. Fuck. That could be a problem.

Snarl’s smile grew and Jemilla had to tap into energy she didn’t know she had to keep her grip. It was loosening. She needed to do something.

‘ _ Weak. _ ’

“Shut  _ up _ .”

‘ _ Weak. Weak. Weak. We- _ ’

“You’re a pest,” Jemilla sneered, and she flashed her knee up into his nose. Snarl roared as the mind link broke suddenly, reeling back in pain and disorientation.

She kneed him in the face once more, and while he was still on the ground, smashed her heel into the back of his head. Snarl’s face planted against the floor, and Jemilla placed her foot on his head so that the jet at the bottom of her Leapy Boot aimed into his head. 

“I’m not little,” Jemilla drawled, “but you’re smaller than I thought.”

Snarl’s eyes widened, “wait-”

Jemilla felt her boot power on, and let energy blast through it and into Snarl. The power of it sent her flying back and she kept one hand on the ground to steady herself as her feet skid against the floor.

Snarl lay unmoving on the ground. Jemilla felt a chill creep down her spine and something shift in the corner of her vision. When she looked over, she could see Skinwrangler staring at Snarl. A red beam flashed from her one mechanical eye, widening and scanning Snarl.

“I don’t want to know,” Jemilla said, shaking her head. The beam flickered out.

“Would you like me to put out the fire of the pyrokinetic?”

Jemilla looked over, suddenly aware that there were multiple parts of the room that were completely ablaze. Veeto was battling the fire off with his seemingly conveniently fire-repellent wings, switching between dodging the flames Zazzalil shot at him and taking the hits by spinning around and letting it disperse and vanish against his wings.

Zazzalil was still completely aflame, a whirling purple tornado of fucking chaos.

“She looks like she’s having fun.”

Skinwrangler’s head tilted to the side and Jemilla could practically see the calculations rummaging through her mind. “If she continues like this completely aflame, the likelihood of there being casualties increases dramatically.”

“We’ll give it another second.” Jemilla paused. Then spoke again, “I think I love her, you know.”

Skinwrangler nodded. “Love is a powerful emotion. Congratulations.” It was an odd thing to say, but Jemilla understood. They both turned their gazes to Haystacker, who had pummeled his way through the metal door and was dragging out a medium-rare and fussing Junior with the help of Angel Master. Junior was calling Tootsie something along the lines of “dumbass country boy.” In response, Tootsie clamped a large hand over Junior’s mouth as Angel Master got to work on Junior’s lightly charred skin. The muffled words quickly became muffled shrieks.

Megagirl smiled. Tootsie caught her gaze and waved, a large smile spreading across his face as he threw Junior over his shoulder.

“You should probably put Zazz out.”

“Confirmed,” Megagirl stated and turned her metal forearm around, opening a hatch and producing three pellets from it. Without a moment’s hesitation she chucked all three at the flaming purple beast that was Zazzalil and they exploded into a fluffy white substance that the small Hero practically drowned in. The fire extinguished immediately and Veeto was promptly taken down with a few well-timed blasts from Megagirl’s hand.

“_What the_ _fu-_ oh shit this tastes like whipped cream.”

Jemilla raised an eyebrow at Megagirl, who shrugged. “Tribe-issued. Convenient and edible.”

“Why are you three here?”

Angle Master and Tootsie were still working on Junior, who had promptly blacked out. 

“Whisper Master sent us after Mooneater did not return.”

“Is that the truth?”

“She was going to send us anyway.”

“Figures. Did you guys have the whole thing under wraps this whole time?”

“Pretty much.”

“I should have known. Thanks for trusting us with this though, even if it did blow up in our face.”

“Thank Whisper Master.”

“Who are we thanking?” Megagirl and Jemilla turned around as a whipped-cream covered Zazzalil waddled over to them.

“Nobody. You did great, babe.”

A bright smile lit up Zazzalil’s face. Jemilla smiled softly.

“We kicked their asses,” Zazzalil crowed. 

Jemilla slipped her hand to the back of the smaller Heroes neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Zazzalil blinked in surprise, but leaned into it. When she pulled back, Zazz snickered. 

She and Jemilla spoke at the same time.

“I got whipped cream on your face-”

“I love you so much-”

They both cut off. Jemilla broke into a fit of laughter as Zazzalil blinked in shock.

“I- you- you’re serious? Like you’re seriously serious? I got fucking whipped cream on your face and you’re seriously serious?”

“Yes, I’m seriously serious,” Jemilla said, a wide grin on her face.

“Well fuck, Jemilla. I love you, too.”

Zazzalil laughed and Jemilla bit her lip, though she was suddenly struck with a thought. Something was missing. 

A word Junior had mentioned, a name, perhaps.

Pincer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dog barks  
Me: :<  
Dog: 🖕


	40. metanoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eat paint

_ metanoia: the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life _

“So, it’s a good thing we didn’t have to deal with that Pincer monster, isn’t it?”

Jemilla looked over at Zazzalil as she sipped the hot chocolate the smaller girl had purchased for her. They sat on the roof of Beanie’s, feeling the sun rise against their backs and watching the sky slowly lighten.

“Oh, yeah. Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d tried to take that thing on ourselves? I’m glad I mentioned it to Megagirl.”

Zazzalil nodded wisely, sipping her hazelnut-shot turmeric latte and wincing as she swallowed. “It would have been super irresponsible of them to let us fight it ourselves, considering we’re both, like, 17.”

“Well, not anymore.” Zazz grinned at Jemilla.

“Not anymore,” she agreed, raising her cup to clink it against Jemilla’s, “Happy Birthday, J-Mills.”

The taller Hero smiled as she clinked the glass and they both drank. 

“We should probably get to school. As much fun as early morning birthday patrols are, Up threatened to write me up if I didn’t start showing up on time.”

Jemilla nodded and they stood, turning around. Neither had bothered changing into Hero gear and both were ready for school, so they stood atop the roof of Beanie’s, squinting into the golden pink of the sunrise. 

Zazzalil surprised Jemilla with a kiss on the cheek, who, in return, surprised Zazzalil by pulling her in for a full kiss.

Zazz blinked in surprise. “What was that?”

“Can I not kiss my girlfriend on my birthday?”

Zazzalil smirked. 

“I was actually wondering why it was so short.” She took a few brisk steps forward and was pleased to see Jemilla’s gaze widened as she was walked backwards, eventually into the brick wall.

“Well, well, well,” Zazzalil whispered, the smirk not fading, “look how the turntables.”

Jemilla’s gaze narrowed and she tilted her head, “what do you think you’re-”

She was silenced with a deep kiss, Zazzalil reaching up on the tips of her toes and grabbing Jemilla by the lapels of her leather jacket. The taller Hero inhaled sharply as she was jerked forward, but she let out an appreciative hum that rose from the back of her throat and that sent electricity through Zazzalil’s body.

Jemilla pulled back, catching her breath. Zazzalil bit her lip before leaning back forward, pressing a soft kiss on Jemilla’s jawline. She exhaled sharply and Zazzalil felt her hands resting on her waist and pulling the smaller girl in closer as she drew her lips down Jemilla’s neck.

She smiled when the felt the taller Hero shudder under her touch.

“You’re shivering,” Zazzalil whispered cockily, a small smirk on her face. Jemilla’s face reddened and she looked at the ground.

“I- I’m cold.”

“Cold?”

“Cold.”

Zazzalil smirked, “then we’re just going to have to do something about that, won’t we?” 

Jemilla narrowed her eyes and she leaned down, swiftly kissing her girlfriend. A small frown tugged at Zazzalil’s lips when the tall Hero pulled back.

“We have to get to school.”

Zazzalil groaned and reeled back, throwing her hands in the air in defeat. “We took a few days off after we got back from Headquarters, what’s one more?”

“Zazzalil.”

“And I talked with S.B. a little. He saw me at the Home, he told everyone I was fine.”

“Zazz.”

“And he probably told everyone that you’re fine, too. I mean, not like _ fine _ fine. I mean you are _ fine _ fine but he probably didn’t say it like that he probably said that you were fine like you’re doing alright.”

“Zazzalil, babe.”

“Not that you’re not fine, you are quite fine. Smokin, actually. Well, technically I’m smokin but you know what I mean-”

“Oh my god, _ Zazzalil. _”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Jemilla crossed her arms over her chest. “I know what this is about.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. I think you’re stalling seeing Keeri.”

Zazzalil blinked in surprise, then shrugged her shoulders and curled into her jean jacket—Jemilla had inspired her to start putting effort into her outfit. By that, she meant that she had started throwing her jean jacket over everything she would normally wear and tying her shoes—“no… I’m not. Really. I’ve missed her. It’s just that…”

“You don’t know how to explain this?”

“I’m going to tell her.”

Jemilla raised an eyebrow, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I have to,” Zazzalil insisted, “I tell her everything.”

“You don’t _ have _ to do anything.”

“No. I’ve been wanting to do this for so long but… I’ve been scared that she’ll hate me or something. But that doesn’t even make sense. She knows everything there is to know about me. I don’t think I should ever let you two be in the same room together, really.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get any ideas. It’s just, I feel like I will feel a little lighter when she knows.”

Jemilla nodded, “alright. That’s fair.” She held her hand out to Zazzalil, her head tilted. She slipped her other hand into her grappling hook and let the metal close over her fingers and palm. “Let’s get going then. We don’t want you to get written up.”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Zazzalil muttered, her eyes peering up from her tilted head in exactly the way she knew would affect Jemilla. She was right, Jemilla’s gaze widened and she looked hastily to the side in a failed attempt to hide her blush.

“Well,” she coughed, then grinned slyly, “there is always night patrol.” Zazzalil chewed on her bottom lip shyly and ignored the burn in her cheeks.

“Right,” Zazzalil muttered as she pressed against Jemilla, nuzzling her face into the taller girls neck. “Course. Sure. Yep.” Jemilla smirked.

“Alright. Hang on tight.

Though before Jemilla could step off of the balcony, Zazzalil furrowed her brows and looked up at her girlfriend.

“Wait, I actually have a quick question first.”

“Shoot.”

“War Master’s symbol… I never understood why it was a turtle shell? Just because it’s… strong?”

Jemilla smiled and shook her head lightly, a softened look falling across her eyes—as if vague memories had suddenly resurfaced and were dancing quickly across her mind.

“You know how she could fire Seismic Blasts from her body?”

“Yeah?”

“She said her insignia was because she would always leave her opponents _ shell-shocked _.”

—

Zazzalil hadn’t quite realized just how much she’d missed Keeri until the tall blonde wrapped her a bear hug and held on for longer than either would have liked to admit.

Of course, this was immediately followed with, “Zazzalil, I love you, but you are literally the biggest asshole I have ever met.”

Zazz winced. God, there was just so much to say. So much to tell her. Where to start. Her memories of the past week swam through her head and it was in that moment that Zazz realized the weight of the shit she had been dragged through.

Without responding, Zazzalil sunk back into Keeri, wrapping her in a tight hug as if she felt the weight physically pressing against her and needed, if only for a moment, someone to share it with. Keeri blinked in surprise but wrapped her arms around the smaller girl.

“Tell me what’s up,” she whispered, and when Zazzalil raised her head, she could see concern brimming in Keeri’s dark blue eyes.

“I’ve had a long week. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening. Always.”

“Keeri… you know that Firebringer Hero that’s been wrecking the town?”

“Of course.”

“Well,” Zazzalil took a deep breath, her entire body tensing, “I’m her. Firebringer. Firebringer is me.”

“Oh, I know.” Zazzalil’s head snapped up.

“What?”

“I mean you’re not the most subtle.”

“What the fuck. Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Keeri smiled wearily, “I thought you knew I knew, but I was waiting for you to mention it in case you didn’t.”

“So _ I’m _ the oblivious one here?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn,” Zazzalil let out a breathy chuckle, “and you’re not… mad or anything?” Keeri tilted her head, an eyebrow raised.

“Why would I be mad?”

The smaller girl shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know.”

“I would only be mad if you didn’t tell me everything that happened while you were gone… especially with Jemilla.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Keeri laughed, “oh come on, it’s a little suspicious that you both disappeared for the same amount of time. And especially with Jemilla being Peacemaker I’m sure that-”

“Hold on,” Zazzalil interrupted, “who the hell told you that Jemilla was Peacemaker?”

Keeri blinked, then looked to the side. “It… It’s pretty obvious, really. Her hair is the same, same smile, same voice… the gang was telling me that it was pretty common of her to disappear like this without telling anyone… did you really not know? How long did it take for you to find out.” Zazzalil stared at Keeri in disbelief, unanswering. Keeri let out a quiet “_ oof _” and shook her head, “yeah that’s rough.”

The bell rang and an apologetic Keeri wrapped her arm around a still shocked Zazzalil’s shoulder. “Let’s get you to class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slurp


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it.

_~_

At one point, Zazzalil had been counting the number of times she’d be pushed against the nearest wall by her wife. As Jemilla’s fingers tugged her frizzy hair and her teeth nipped at her neck, Zazzalil vaguely realized that she had lost count.

“Ah shit,” Zazzalil muttered, and Jemilla pulled back, an amused look in her dark eyes.

“Problem?” She asked, her voice a low whisper.

“No,” Zazzalil hurriedly denied, pulling her wife’s waist closer to her body. She then paused, tilting her head. “Well, kind of, actually. Why did you pull me in the closet?”

Jemilla hummed as she bent forward, her fingers tracing down along her bared back and sliding under the dip where the dress finally returned. The smaller girl inhaled sharply at her icy touch as Jemilla replied, “to avoid getting interrupted by the authorities, obviously. It’s nice, isn’t it? Not to mention there’s no constant threat of being interrupted by the little terror.”

“A mongrel,” Zazzalil agreed seriously.

“A menace,” Jemilla pulled her head up and in the thin darkness Zazzalil could see a wide smile tracing her lips.

“A hazard, truly.” They both snickered, only to freeze at the sound of footsteps stomping coming closer to the broom closet.

“Jemilla? Zazzalil? Where the fuck are you guys?”

The two Heroes exchanged a glance, then separated quickly. Zazzalil smoothed down her impossibly frizzy hair as Jemilla brushed the wrinkles from her dress. 

The door opened, revealing a short, masked Hero in a turquoise dress with dark curls that swept past her shoulders in intricate ringlets. She was tightly gripping the hand of a seriously annoyed young boy with a giant blue cape who was fidgeting with his crooked mask and trying to slip his hand from the curly-haired Hero’s grasp.

“Mooneater,” Jemilla addressed with a guilty smile.

“Seriously? Again? Every time… I thought you were just going to ‘freshen up’ in the bathroom. It’s about to start,” Princess replied with a raised eyebrow, “otherwise I would not have agreed to watch your tiny monster.”

“ _ You’re _ a monster, Auntie Princess,” the little boy replied indignantly, sticking his tongue out. Zazzalil snickered and bent down, picking up the boy and ruffling the dark, curly mop atop his head.

Princess scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at the young boy in defiance, “and don’t you forget it. Did you show your moms your nails?”

“Oh yeah! Look!” Zazzalil gushed at the black nail polish on the boy’s nails, matching Princess’s.

“Look at how beautiful they are, Jemilla.”

“Yes, they’re gorgeous, but I would like to know how you snuck the cape after we specifically told you no, Albus.” Jemilla asked, eyeing her old cape, which was situated on the boy’s shoulders. He was practically wrapped in it, it was so large on him.

“Mom,” Albus whined, “mama was the one that helped me find it. And it matches your dress.” Jemilla’s dress, a tribute to the iconic cape of her younger days, was a dark turquoise that tapered into black at the bottom. Zazzalil’s own dress was a shimmery dark mauve that hung off her shoulders, her own sort of tribute.

Jemilla turned to Zazzalil, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, was she?”

The smaller Hero grinned apologetically, “I just think he looks very pretty in it, don’t you?” 

Jemilla rolled her eyes but couldn’t force the grin from her face. “He looks dazzling. Now, thank you, Mooneater.”

Princess shrugged, “it’s fine. He really wanted to find you guys after Scrags and Cluebert went back to their table and he suddenly didn’t have a giant spirit dog to keep him company. I was not about to tell an eight year old with super strength and the ability to fly ‘no.’” 

“Completely understandable. Albus, what do you say to Mooneater?”

“Thanks, Auntie.”

Princess smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “You guys should get going, the ceremony is about to start. I’ll meet you there soon.”

Jemilla and Zazzalil exchanged a glance, both smiling excitedly. Jemilla took her wife’s hand, and they exchanged goodbyes with Princess before heading towards the dining hall. 

“Are you ready for this?”

Zazzalil glanced at her wife, a cocky grin spread across her face. “I was born ready for this.”

“Really? ‘I was born ready?’ That’s the cliche you’re going with?” Jemilla retorted, but the smile still hung on her face.

Zazzalil snickered, kissing Albus on the cheek. “It’s a perfectly good cliche, isn’t it?”

Albus, who had been fidgeting with Zazzalil’s mask, blinked. “I don’t know what that is, mama.”

Jemilla smiled brightly, letting go over Zazzalil’s hand momentarily to ruffle the raven curls on Albus’s head. “It means that your mama is kind of a moron.”

“Hey!” Zazzalil said at the same time Albus crowed, “I know  _ that _ .”

“You both are so rude,” Zazzalil said, fighting back the grin that forced itself to her lips. Jemilla slipped her arm around her wife’s waist and pressed a kiss to her jawbone.

“Nothing that can't be made up for later,” she whispered, “right, babe?” Zazzalil blushed as they came to the large double doors, indignantly looking away.

“If you say so, babe,” she replied with false indifference, only to feel Jemilla’s hot breath against her skin once more and her teeth lightly nip at Zazzalil’s ear.

“I do say so,  _ babe _ . And you’re going to listen.”

Zazzalil coughed and ignored the hot burn of her cheeks and Albus’s questioning, “mom, what are you whispering to mama?” She instead opted to push the door open and they slipped into the dining hall.

The hall was lit with thin, yet vibrant golden light that washed over the masked faces of every Hero in it as they chattered quietly amongst themselves. Zazzalil immediately caught sight of a greying Whisper Master leaning in an aggressively agitated manner against the wall. Cynthia made eye contact with Zazzalil and shot her a ‘ _ and where the fuck have you been _ ’ look—a look that Zazz returned with an apologetic shrug.

They sat at their table, and the moment they did, there was a bright flash of light and suddenly Princess was across from them. 

“You’re back soon, is it about to start?” Jemilla asked, looking around. Sure enough, Whisper Master was making her way up onto the stage, clearing her throat into the microphone as the hushed whispers died down and forcing a smile onto her face.

Mooneater reached over and placed Albus on her lap, unable to contain the excited smile that spread across her face. Under the table, Jemilla caught Zazzalil’s hand, weaving their fingers together. 

“May I have everybody's attention?” All eyes flicked up to Cynthia. Zazzalil squeezed Jemilla’s hand.

“Yes. Hi. As you all know, every four years, the Tribe nominates a few Heroes who have put exceptionally hard work into their jobs and who have displayed talent, loyalty, and a sheer willingness to help those in need to rise into their place in the Council and join the ranks of Master. 

“This year we are honoring two Heroes who continue to astound the Tribe with their dedication, fairness, and strength. Peacemaker and Firebringer, please rise, and allow me to reintroduce you.”

Jemilla stood first, all confidence and pride, the ghost of a smile flickering across her soft, yet stern face. She’d been waiting for this moment, that much was obvious. With her right hand she gently touched the necklace that rested gently between her collarbones. The pads of her fingertips lightly grazed the two pendants that hung from the silver chain; Jemilla’s blue and white feather and War Master’s green and red turtle shell.

Zazzalil felt numb for a moment as she looked up at her wife. The golden light of the dining hall cast a bright aura that Jemilla was outlined against as she nodded and smiled at the clapping crowds. Clapping? Zazzalil blinked, ah yes, they were applauding. For her.

For them.

Jemilla looked down at Zazzalil, the smile not fading as she tilted her head slightly to the side. Her left hand outstretched to Zazzalil, who nebulously took it as she stood. She was excruciatingly aware of her violet, fire pendant hanging tightly around her throat. Sound seemed to blur in her ears, and all she could focus on was the soft, comforting smile on Jemilla’s lips and the feeling of her heart pulsing in her chest. Zazzalil’s gaze flicked to Albus, and when he pushed back his unruly, raven curls with black-painted fingers and flashed her a bright smile, she snapped to attention, suddenly aware that Cynthia was speaking.

“We welcome you to the Council, Peace Master and Fire Master.”

“You ready?” Zazzalil looked slowly at Jemilla, who was rubbing her palm with her thumb. Her touch felt like fire.

Zazzalil smiled and raised Jemilla’s hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

“With you, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was it.  
Thanks y’all. Be wild.


End file.
